


Dreams of Warmth

by RuffedLemur



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Don't copy to another site, Drabble Collection, Family Drama, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, In-Laws, Missing Scene, Multi, Relationship Study, Several Chapters - Modern AU and/or Crack, The Tales of Dunk and Egg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2020-06-22 08:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 100
Words: 47,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19663522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuffedLemur/pseuds/RuffedLemur
Summary: A collection of drabbles and one-shots written for thiswriting memefrom tumblr.Full Index





	1. "Please don’t leave me." (Ghost of High Heart and Jenny of Oldstones, friendship)

“So, you’ll be some important lady now?” Briar asks. She tries to hide her bitterness and her fears - her fear for her friend, her dread of lonely, long, cold winters. _Please, don’t leave me_ _,_ she pleads silently.

“Those fools from the Ruined Mill won’t believe it,” she says aloud. “Jenny who stole their fish, they’ll have to call you _m’lady_.”

One part of her wants to snap and add something cruel, but she’s not a petulant child. Instead she gestures at the Old Oak and the meadow behind it.

“Won’t you miss this all?” _Won’t you miss me? Likely, you’ll forget… until your prince gets bored, and they kick you out. That’s what happened to the old king’s mistresses, they say._

“Briar,” Jenny tries to interrupt her. She looks uncomfortable in her new dress. Although simple and made for travel, it looks strange on her, and Jenny won’t stop tugging at its skirt.

_They’ll laugh at you. They’ll hurt you._

“It’s hard to…” Briar isn’t sure what she wants to say. _No crying._ She isn’t some weepy lady.

“Briar, can you listen for once?!” Jenny stamps her foot on the ground. “I want you to come with me!”

Briar opens her mouth. Closes it. _Come to where?_ _She can’t be serious._

“You’re my friend, like a sister to me! I can’t leave you here alone. Duncan agrees.”

Briar laughs. “Does he want me at court? Hobbling among your pretty m’ladies and m’lords? Do I have to wear a pretty dress too?” The thought of it is just too ridiculous.

She shakes her head… and yet… the dream about the Bright Castle, its windows full of light, was it about this? Her dreams are often tricky. _Foolishness. Madness._ Yet already she knows that she will go with Jenny. The dread of being alone is too much. The thought of enduring the cold winters all alone is too much.

“Very well,” she says, trying to sound like a lady, and Jenny laughs in relief. “But we have to try all their fancy foods, like that ‘tart’ thing your… _beloved_ brought us last time.”


	2. “Are you kidding me right now?!” (Shiera, Aerys, Brynden, Adelaide (OC), modern AU, teenagers, crack)

“Are you kidding me right now?”

The all stare at the piece of paper. Even Shiera’s friend Adelaide who didn’t participate in the ritual.

“It was supposed to be a game! A stupid game!” Shiera’s voice is unusually shrill. She can’t believe her eyes - their piece of paper is covered in writing!

“We actually did it,” Aerys murmurs. “What if a spirit appears?”

Shiera shudders at the thought… yet… what if she can talk to her mother?

“Come on,” Brynden sounds suspiciously calm. Shiera doesn’t like it - she is the self-assured one here. And does he need to smile at them like they are small children? “Think!“ he continues. "What’s more likely - that we managed to summon a spirit with a ritual from reddit? Or that this is a prank, played by my sisters or Aerys’s brothers?”

This sounds reasonable. Shiera looks at Adelaide, who shrugs.

Aerys isn’t convinced. “You told us your sisters are out of town. And Baelor and Rhaegel aren’t mean enough to spoil my ritual,” he insists. “And Maekar does not have imagination for a prank.”

“Meanie,” Shiera teases him. She picks up the paper. The handwriting is remarkably neat. She would’ve expected an otherworldly spirit to be more… dramatic. And why would a spirit write a verse from _The Seven-Pointed Star_? Yet she has no idea how anyone can make the writing just appear like this. Some special ink?

There is a knock.

They all jump up, even Brynden, who looks less confident now.

“From inside the closet,” Aerys whispers. “Just as it is supposed to go...”

“Well, aren’t you supposed to get in there and commune with the spirit?” Adelaide asks sweetly.

_Perhaps she is the one pranking us._ Shiera gives her friend a suspicious look. _She always laughs at the three of us, mocks our interest in the occult._ Shiera can tell that Brynden is thinking the same thing, he is also staring at Adelaide. _Time to pick a side, then._

“Yes, we should continue,” Shiera declares before Brynden can open his mouth and accuse Adelaide. “And since Brynden is so brave, he should do it. Unless we want to abort the ritual?”

Brynden glares daggers at her. Oh, it’s so easy to be mean to him.

Aerys clears his throat. “I can do it, if you don’t want to,” he suggests.

“No, I’m not afraid, and it’s just a stupid prank anyway,” Brynden growls at him, and marches towards the closet where the spirit awaits.

“Well, that would scare the more benevolent ones,” Adelaide snickers once he shuts himself in, banging the door.

“Let’s get closer,” Shiera pulls her towards the closet. Aerys follows them, grumbling about “not doing the ritual properly”. They listen. Brynden is whispering, but he sounds far away. Aerys sniffs the air.

“What?”

“The smell… it is familiar. Violet perfume.”

“I can’t smell anything other than Shiera’s horrid shampoo.”

“Shut up!”

When the door opens, the three of them barely avoid being hit by it. Brynden storms out, his face nearly as red as his birthmark.

“And?”

“Did it work?”

“What did it say?”

Brynden whirls around and raises an accusing finger at Aerys. “Ah, yes, it worked! Just the same way everything in this family works! It was your sainted grandmother talking!”

Aerys blinks at him. “But… No way you mean grandma Naerys?!”

“Yes, it was her! And the last thing I wanted to hear from a spirit was a five minutes lecture about the dangers of using magical rituals! Like I’m a baby! Your whole bloody family!” And with that he storms out of the room.

Aerys stares at the closet with an open mouth. Adelaide looks at him with a skeptical expression on her face. Shiera just doesn’t know what to think. Naerys _was_ very firm in her opinions about magic. And it _is_ surprisingly easy to imagine her reaching out from the Afterlife to warn them off from such a "sinful” and “dangerous” activity.

“Good thing I am the calm one,” Shiera reminds herself, and takes the glass and the salt from the table. “Ghost grandma or not, we have to finish the ritual properly.”


	3. “I’m going to kill you!” (Daeron the Drunken/Kiera of Tyrosh, relationship drama)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of alcohol, period-typical attitude towards alcoholism

_That fool! If he’s not dead…_ Kiera storms into her husband’s bedchamber, furious. Maester Rian bows his head and mutters a greeting, but she ignores him. Daeron is in his bed, pale but alive, and on his face is the usual ashamed expression. _Pitiful_ , Kiera thinks.

“Prince Daeron fell down the stairs,” the maester tells her. He doesn’t sound concerned. “No injuries, just a few bruises. Still, I advise rest.”

Daeron winces. “My head hurts, although not from the fall.” He even has the audacity to smile.

_You promised._

Kiera glares at him. _I’m going to kill you_ , she thinks. Yet she stays silent.

“I do feel much better now,” Daeron adds quickly, clearly sensing her displeasure. _Just, please, don’t shout at me,_ his eyes beg her, as if she ever does. Then he bows his head in shame. _So pitiful._

“Princess Kiera,” now the maester is mumbling again, and she forces herself to listen. _Advice._ She finds it hard to concentrate on his words. Her thoughts are all jumbled. Can’t he bother Daeron instead?

“Later, maester,” she tries to interrupt him, but he just won’t stop talking. It is unbearable. Daeron is looking at them now, frowning. _You fell. You were drunk. You promised. When our daughter was born you promised that you would stop drinking._ She swallows. _I thought you would die. When they told me you had an accident, I thought…_ when Valarr died she wasn’t even allowed near the body. She was locked away. _Trapped._ It is hard to breath.

“Please, maester, I…” _So pitiful._

“Leave us for a moment, maester,” Daeron orders from his bed, and the maester bows and hurries away.

Kiera shakes her head. She hopes it will clear now that the maester’s droning has ceased.

“You were…" _I was so afraid you would die._

Daeron pats the bed. “Come sit down here.”

She scowls at him, but sits down and takes his hand in hers. It is warm and soft.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” he says.

“You promised you wouldn’t drink.”

He smiles sadly. “Yes, I know. I tried, Kiera, I really tried.”

She gives up, “At least promise me you won’t be so reckless? Don’t wander alone when you’re in your cups, let the servants take you to your rooms.”

“You are very fond of this expression, _in your cups_. Is there a similar phrase in Tyroshi?”

“Daeron.”

“I’m sorry. I promise, I promise.”

She can’t say she believes him.

_Why are we like this?_ she wonders, lifting his hand up to her cheek.


	4. “You did all of this for me?” (one-sided Brynden/Shiera, character drama)

The book on the table is a beautiful, rare tome, its cover skillfully ornamented in the Volantene style. The blue and green lilies that are scattered around it cost a fortune.

“ _Lys During the Bleeding Years_ by maester Gellen. You hunted it down. And the flowers… You did all of this for me?” Shiera already knows the answer. She picks up one of the lilies. How interesting - it’s a live flower, yet it smells only of paper.

“Of course I did it for you,” Brynden’s voice is soft. “Everything for you.”

Shiera’s smile is cold and joyless. She is familiar with the tone, with the longing gaze. She hoped she was mistaken about Brynden. She hoped he was a friend, a brother. Alas, they are all the same, the men who claim to be in love with her. Sometimes she thinks they are worse than those who are driven solely by lust. At least lust is something she understands.

Brynden takes a step towards her. She doesn’t move.

“Marry me, Shiera.”

“No.” Then her smile becomes cruel. “Perhaps if you find those black roses from Qohor…"


	5. “I made my baby cry!” (Dreamseer the Dragon p1, feat. Daeron the Drunken and maester Aemon)

“Oh, no, I made my baby cry!” Daeron lamented in a sad, drunken voice. He was sitting on the carpet in the middle of his bedchamber, a turned bowl dripping milk right beside him. Aemon, who was awakened by a distressed cry, glanced around - no women, good. The room was strangely hot and some… shards lay on his brother’s bed, covered in a foul-smelling liquid.

“What happened?” Aemon tried to sound stern, like their father.

“I made my baby cry!” Daeron sniffled. He looked utterly miserable and smelled of spirits. “I gave her milk. I got it from the nice cook, I remember there was something about milk in the old books. And she’s already so lively, I thought we could play, but I hit that stupid vase,” he waved in the direction of the window, where the wedding present from Kiera’s cousins lay on its side, thankfully intact. “And she got scared and cried out and hid over there,” Daeron pointed at the huge writing desk he never used. “She _cried out_ , Aemon! What if she hates me now? Have I already spoiled it?”

“How much did you drink today?” Aemon asked with an exasperated sigh. _Has alcohol addled his_ _mind?_ he wondered. A sad thought, yet they all expected it to happen sooner or later.

“Not that much. Usual,” Daeron answered as he crawled towards the desk on all fours. “Please, Dreamseer, will you come out?”

“Dreamseer?”

“That’s her name! I think it’s pretty! Like her!” And with that Daeron disappeared under the huge desk. Aemon could still hear him cooing some drunken nonsense. He sighed and turned to have a closer look at those strange shards… no, not shards… those were… a hissing sound from behind him, and Daeron’s teary voice, “Please, Dreamseer, will you forgive me?”

Aemon froze. _It can’t be_ … Slowly, he turned. Daeron had emerged from under the desk. And in his arms, cradled like a baby or a very spoiled cat, was Dreamseer, shiny violet and creamy white, with pink eyes and tiny needle teeth.

Aemon gaped on them with shock and jealousy. _It should be me, not him, I am worthy!_

“This is my brother Aemon! Aemon meet Dreamseer! What do you think she will eat? Was it bad to give her milk? I remember charred meat, but she’s so tiny!” Daeron tickled the dragon’s head. “Yes you are! You are too tiny!” he crooned. It chirped at him, and for the first time in years Daeron looked happy and healthy, and Aemon smiled at them, his envy dissipating.

“She can have goat milk, I think I have a book with the formula.”


	6. “I’m in love with you.” (Jenny of Oldstones, a surprise character, mischief at court, not shippy)

Young Lord Aidan can’t be older than fifteen, and his face is covered with pimples. Yet he looks strong, even imposing, and no one is around, even Briar has wandered off to somewhere.

“I’m in love with you, my lady,” the boy proclaims. “And I plead for a token from you, to wear it at the tourney!”

_It’s a jest_ , Jenny thinks. She can’t stop tugging at the ribbons on her dress. What a terrible habit. _A jest. Just like that time when lady Marbrand and her friends played a trick on stupid Jenny._ Despite her anger and confusion she tries to remember whether she ever learned what to do when something like this happens. _Does Duncan have to fight the boy in a duel now?_ Highborn have rules for everything, but it’s hard to remember them all. Briar would’ve known what to do. With a wicked word she would’ve scared the boy away.

Lord Aidan takes a step towards her. His eyes shine with mischief, not lust or malice. Jenny prays she is not mistaken about this.

“Your love, my lady, or I…”

“Have you not told the same thing to Lady Oakheart last week?” says a harsh, deep voice from behind Jenny. She turns - it’s an older woman, somewhat heavyset, yet stunningly beautiful.

Lord Aidan pales and bows with a distressed squeak. “It’s only…” he mumbles.

“Don’t be afraid to hurt his feelings, my lady,” the woman says. “Our young lord Aidan professes his undying love to every lady older than twenty. He has a bet with his cousin, whom I just caught eavesdropping.”

Lord Aidan shuffles his feet, his head still bowed. His ears are red now.

“What was the bet about again? Whether you are brave enough to confess to twenty _old ladies_?”

“Unwise game,” Jenny chimes in.

“And very dangerous,” the woman agrees. Jenny has never met her before, but knows who she is - the mismatched eyes, the neckless… _Bastard. Sorceress._

“I hope you will forgive them, Lady Jenny?”

“Of course, they are so young,” Jenny frowns at Lord Aidan. “But don’t do no… anything like this again. Lady Shiera is right, it is dangerous.”

“Now go. Your cousin is probably waiting for you. And remember,” Lady Shiera’s smile is oh-so-wicked, “I will know…”

The boy bows again and scuttles away.

“Children,” Lady Shiera rolls her eyes.

“The bet? Is it true? How foolish,” Jenny can’t hide her curiosity. “What if someone challenged him to a duel? Why do they even do it?”

“Unfortunately at that age we all are foolish, but the spoiled favourite sons of the lords especially so. And when they are bored…” for a moment Lady Shiera is silent. “I remember I was very foolish myself,” she adds with a rueful smile.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue. He was confessing his love, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“Oh, that one was doing it because of the foolish game. No one would’ve taken him seriously, and he didn’t expect it,” Lady Shiera’s expression suddenly becomes grim, almost sad. “But there will be serious ones. Dangerous ones. I know the likes of them well. You will need to learn, my lady, to survive the court.”

Can she truly learn? Five years married to her prince, and still Jenny so often feels at a loss.

Lady Shiera takes her by the arm, her face serene again. “Let me tell you about that time I fended off Lord Manderley…”


	7. “Can I kiss you?” (Dunk/Tanselle, future fic, pre-Summerhall)

They dance on the roof under the full Moon. When he was young he had never even dreamed of anything like this.

“You look at me like back then, good Ser,” Tanselle says with a smile. She is still beautiful, even if her back is not so straight anymore.

“Then?”

“When we first met.”

“I was smitten with you. Still are.” But now Duncan knows her - her life, her struggles, her thirst for creating beauty. They stop their dance, and she glances at her hand, her right hand with disfigured fingers. Her dark eyes are sad now. _Sad and angry._ Dunk realizes that she didn’t forget. _They took something from her, and it still hurts._ Dunk is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard now, the King’s loyal confidant, but he can’t forget either. He won’t forget.

“Can I? Can I kiss you?” he blurts out. “Can I kiss your hand?”

She nods and pulls off her glove.

“Does it hurt?”

“When you kiss it? No. Otherwise I wouldn’t let you.”

They are silent for a while. Then she finally asks, “Will you stay for long?”

“No, we are heading for Summerhall soon. Perhaps, we will be back in a year. Or you could visit the capital?”

“Summerhall?” her face is grim now. “There are rumours.”

“Rumours?” No, he can’t talk about the King’s plan. Not even with her.

“About dragons.”

“Just rumours.”

Her grip on his arm is strong. _She had to learn to use her uninjured hand, so many years ago._

“If the dragon is born, will it be used against the people?” Her eyes are burning through him.

“You know that the King wants to help the common folk, it’s the lords…”

“Yet he’ll have all the power, why should we trust him not to change his tune?” she says. “I hope you’ll be on our side, my knight.”

_Will I?_ He must remember. He must stay true.


	8. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.” (Dreamseer the Dragon p2, feat. Aerion, Daeron, Kiera, Aemon)

“This… this little monster! How dare it!” Aerion’s torn sleeve is still smocking, but Aemon can now see that his brother’s arm wasn’t hurt.

Dreamseer sneezes, turns around and makes a digging movement with her hind legs. Everyone in the room, except for Aerion, bursts into laughter.

“Disgusting beast!”

“You shouldn’t have grabbed at her like that. It startled her, and she already dislikes you. You’re always too rough. Dreamseer is never like this with anyone else,” Daeron says from his seat. Dreamseer, already the size of a big sow and much rounder than any dragon Aemon has seen in the books, is trying to climb on the creaking sofa.

“It’s all you!” Aerion turns to face Daeron. “You can’t even tame this fat beast! You turned it against me! If it becomes mine, I will…”

“But she doesn’t want to become yours, does she?” Kiera purrs from beside her husband. “I think we all just saw it. Unless you want to try again?”

‘You Tyroshi…" before Aerion can continue, Dreamseer turns her head and snaps her jaws in his direction. Aerion jumps back and then flees the room, hissing curses at them all.

“Don’t be afraid, Dreamseer, the bad prince is gone,” Daeron coos, and Kiera makes a funny face at Aemon.

The dragon has finally climbed onto the sofa, and Daeron reaches to pet her but suddenly jerks his hand back.

“Ouch!” He shakes his hand, then tries to touch Dreamseer’s head again.

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad,” he utters in amazement. “Try, touch her, Aemon!”


	9. “Will you be quite?” (Rhaegel and his brothers, after the Spring Sickness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of canon-typical ableism

“Will you be quite?” Rhaegel glared at his brothers. “My head hurts from your squabbling!”

They stared at him as if he had just grown a pair of dragon wings. Most likely they had been so engrossed in their ugly fight that they had forgotten he was in the room.

“Are you unwell? Is it one of your episodes?” Aerys asked at last with that annoying, concerned _‘I’m your older brother’_ expression he sometimes had. “I will find your maester.”

“No, it’s not that!” Rhaegel balled up his fists. “I’m just sick of your fights! You both should be ashamed, the times are difficult, yet you continue…”

Endless fights, constant jealousy and feelings of insecurity. It started when they were young, but after Ashford it got ugly. Rhaegel himself knew well how envy and insecurity felt. Oh, he was jealous of his brothers - they weren’t called “madmen” and “prancing fools” behind their backs, they didn’t have to deal with the dear loved ones treating them as children. It was almost comical - all three of them suffering from the feeling of being underappreciated. And sometimes Rhaegel wondered whether Baelor felt that way too, but he couldn’t dwell on it now, it hurt too much. And, unlike Maekar and Aerys, Rhaegel knew not to pour his problems onto others.

“I’m ashamed of you,” he told them. “Mother and father would’ve been ashamed of you.”

Maekar flinched, but Aerys glared at their younger brother, and was that hate in his eyes? This scared Rhaegel. Aerys hating someone? Just a year ago he wouldn’t have believed it.

“Can’t you put your differences aside, at least for a time? The Blackfyres probably know about the Sickness, you need to work together!” he hoped mentioning their common enemy would work. He was mistaken.

“Our uncle Brynden knows just how to deal with the Blackfyres,” Aerys declared with a poisonous glance towards Maekar, who in turn immediately bristled up.

“Bloodraven? You let _him_ cow into your ear now?”

“He is competent for the task.”

“The Bastard? That man has no honor! Do you intend to make him your Hand?”

_And so they go again._ Rhaegel wanted to cry and to laugh. He had never ever, not even when he was a child, pretended to be sick. He would have never dared. Yet now he lowered himself on the bench and said in a small, fake voice, “Could you be quite, please? I think it’s an episode”. Anything to make them stop. _And they won’t even notice my anger._


	10. “You are a bloody idiot, you know that?” (Daemon II, Rohanne of Tyrosh, Daemon I, family drama)

“You are a bloody idiot, you know that?” mama’s voice was angry, and papa looked sad.

Daemon hid behind the door of his room. He didn’t want to eavesdrop, eavesdropping was bad and “uncouth“, mama said. Mama was always proper, that’s why her swearing now was so funny. And Daemon couldn’t help but listen and look through the gap between the door and the wall. From his spot he couldn’t see her face, only papa’s.

Daemon held his breath. He had been worried ever since he heard Lord Caron say that papa loved that lady Daenys. They had met her once, and she was kind, but her face was splotchy and peeling - how could papa love her instead of mama who was also kind, but whose face was smooth and pretty?

“What is the cause of your displeasure this time, my lady?” papa didn’t sound angry, that was good. _Calla told me not to worry about Lady Daenys._

“You, my lord.”

“I?”

“You, listening to Bittersteel and your darling Ser Quentyn!”

Daemon nodded - uncle Aegor was scary, and Ser Ball, while a marvelous knight, always dotted on Aemon and Aegon, and never paid Daemon any attention.

“They are good and loyal men. They have my trust.”

“They are bitter and dangerous men. Do you think they care about the safety of our children? You are lucky the King is too kind for his own good. Do _you_ care about our children? Is it true Aegor wants Calla’s hand?”

“Political matches happen. I thought you of all people would understand, Rohanne. This marriage won’t happen for many years. I have full trust in my advisers. I expect my wife to have trust in me.” Then papa walked away. He looked so calm, so composed. But mama just stood there. Was she still angry?

Daemon got out of his hiding place and tiptoed to her.

“Mama, do you want to play the paper game with me?” he asked. He wanted to know why uncle Aegor wanted Calla’s hand when he didn’t have any sons for her to wed, and why mama was swearing at papa. But he doubted that she would tell him.

“Later, darling,” mama smiled at him, but he thought she still looked sad and angry.

“Are you upset with father?” he dared to ask. 

For a moment there was a funny look on mama’s face, as if she was deciding what to tell him, like that time when he asked whether he would get a pony for his name day, and she was trying to keep it a secret from him. Then her face relaxed.

“No, darling. Go to your room, I’ll come later.”


	11. “You love me.” (Daemon II, Canon-Divergence, Daemon/Valarr)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by a prompt i’ve seen long time ago on a lj meme

The King’s blue eyes, usually cold and suspicious, are sad when he announces his new decision.

 _You love me,_ Daemon thinks, standing there before the eyes of the court and quite possibly uncle Aegor’s spies.

“My lady mother pleaded with me to show you clemency,” says the King. His mother stands by the steps leading up to the Iron Throne, and Daemon suspects she wasn’t the one begging on his behalf. Judging by her face she has been drinking for several days. No, this is the King’s idea.

“For my mother’s sake, I decided to be merciful.”

Bloodraven twists his mouth in displeasure _. Here goes your precious hostage._ At least this mummer’s farce is turning out to be entertaining in that regard.

“Pretender Daemon Blackfyre, you are given a chance to take the black instead of imprisonment and atone for your sins at the Wall. What do you chose?”

 _He is in love with me, how funny._ What can Daemon say? He had dreamed to see the snow. He had dreamed of the most marvelous adventures, of the Wall and its mysteries. Now everything is gone, broken, and his dreams were a lie. This won’t return those who died because of his folly, won’t make him worthy of his father’s name. And still… What wouldn’t he give for a breath of fresh air, for the freedom to move. He kneels before the throne and the blue-eyed King.

“I swear to take the black and serve at the Wall.”

When he raises his head the King’s eyes are wistful.


	12. “He’s dead.” (Maekar on Aerion’s death)

_He’s dead._ That boy who liked strawberry cakes so much he once ate too many and got sick. That boy who looked so happy and proud when his father was knighting him. The people on the streets celebrate the death of the monster. The death of the man who just several days ago sat on the bench below this window and sang to his young son. Or was it just another trick to make his father trust him again? Love him again? He was singing to his son, whose very name was a mockery, a challenge.

“Your Grace,” Brynden is here, of course, trying to distract him. Sometimes Maekar still hates his Hand. “We need to think about the succession, Your Grace.”

He needs time to think this through - has the boy ever loved him? Has Maekar ever loved the boy? He doesn’t feel grief or pain at the moment, but his mind is troubled. He remembers how no one else could make Aerion go to sleep when he was three years old. Only Maekar, the proud father. He remembers the damned cat in the well.

“Leave me, Brynden.”

“Your Grace…”

“Leave me!”

The succession can wait. He is still strong of the body, if not of the mind. He has always been dutiful, never shied away from unpleasant tasks. So this one time it can wait. He is tired. He won’t grief for that boy. He just wishes he would stop remembering.


	13. “I hate you so much I love you.” (Dyanna Dayne and Alys Arryn, pure ridiculousness, friendship)

“And then they kissed!”

“That’s just terrible!”

“No, it was very sweet. Even too sweet.”

“But can you find that book again?” Dyanna was still laughing. The story was just too ridiculous, yet Alys was trying to convince her it was something she had read as a child. “I have to read it myself to believe it’s true.”

“You don’t believe me? I would never lie about the brave prince Robin and his true dragon-human-deer love!” Alys theatrically put one hand on her chest, as if swearing an oath, and rolled up her eyes.

“No, no, but our memories are often tricky! I know I sometimes remember things from my childhood wrong. Mayhaps you’ve read a story about a prince and a lady who was turned into a dragon, and your imagination conjured the rest?”

“I swear!” Alys sprang to her feet. “We can go and look right now!”

Dyanna would have preferred to rest. She climbed many cliffs back home, but the ascent to the Eyrie left even her shaken. Alys, on the other hand, didn’t look to be tired at all. Indeed, she was even more restless than usual.

“Come on, let’s check it! I’ll show you the library! It is very good!”

Just as she always allowed her little sister Louise to have her own way, Dyanna allowed Alys to pull her out of her chair and lead her to the library. It was small and neat, and Dyanna wanted to look around, but Alys marched right up to one of the bookshelves in the farthest corner.

“I remember… it should be here. Maester Basyl never changes anything. Its title was… Yes! Here it is!” Alys pulled out a huge tome. “ _The Wondrous Tales of The Mountains._ Hmm, I’ve remembered its name slightly differently…”

“That’s what I told you!”

“We will see!” Alys put the book on a reading table and opened it. “Let’s see… _Brave Ser Rober and The Woman Who Was a Dragon_! I told you!”

“But was she a deer too?”

Alys turned the pages. “Here it is. Look! Look at the picture! She has antlers and… oh, my, it’s the tail!” With a piercing shriek Alys leaped back from the book and fell into a nearby chair, bursting into a fit of mad laughter.

Dyanna stared at her in confusion. Then turned to look at the illustration that caused such a strong reaction from her good sister. It depicted Ser Robin or Rober and his rather naked dragon-deer love who indeed had antlers and a tail, and the tail was… was doing to Ser Rober… No! Dyanna shut the book with a snap. Her septa would’ve sent her to a convent for just looking at that! She nearly bit her own hand, trying to suppress giggles.

“This is terrible… why… why did you make me look at that? So terrible!” she exclaimed at last.

“I know! I’m sorry. Do you hate me?”

“I hate you… I hate you so much I love you! How I would have lived without the knowledge of the dragon tail uses?!”

They laughed so loudly that disgruntled maester Basyl sent them out of the library.


	14. “Just leave me alone.” (Tanselle and her aunt, moody teen Tanselle)

“Just leave me alone.”

The girl is moody lately, often upset over the smallest things. _She’s growing up, that’s all_ , Tessa thinks to herself. Yet this time Tanselle looks truly disturbed.

“What happened? The boys teased you again? They’re fools. So many men love tall women.” Tanselle glares at her. “Not that? Then tell your aunt. When you were little you told me everything. I can’t help if I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s this stupid thing,” Tanselle throws the puppet she was working on onto the ground. It’s a beautiful creature with the wings painted the colour of flame.

“Don’t throw your work!” Tessa is horrified. The puppet is better than anything she or her husband can do, and other troupes would pay money for it. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s all wrong.”

“It’s pretty.”

“It’s wrong and… dead!” Tanselle stamps her foot on the ground. “I wanted it to look like those sa… salamandra mosaics in the Hellholt. But those looked alive, not like this!” she kicks the puppet.

“Those mosaics were made by a man grown, with decades of practice. Likely many men worked on them.” Tessa picks up the puppet. “This was made by a child of fourteen, and with very different materials.” Tanselle puffs out her cheeks, displeased at being called 'a child'. The girl considers herself a woman grown. “And yet it’s more 'alive' than anything your uncle can create. Very pretty, and in your hands it will come to life when it’s time for the performance.”

Fluttery still works, and Tanselle finally relaxes and smiles.

“You need patience and practice. Then one day you’ll be better. This puppet took hours of work, the work that will bring improvement of your skill.”

“I wish I could do it now.” Tanselle says with a rueful sigh.

“Patience, child. Those masters who made the mosaics weren’t born with their skill either. Just keep your clever hands safe.”


	15. “I can’t believe you just did that.” (Egg, Daeron the Drunken, third Blackfyre rebellion)

Daeron catches up with him at the bottom of the stairs. “I can’t believe you just did that,” his voice is full of bewilderment.

“Did what?” Egg whirls around to face his brother. “Voiced my opinion? Is it such a rarity here?” He is still fuming. That whole meeting. _Aerion._

“Spoke to father like that!” Daeron drops his voice, “He’ll be wroth. And Aerion? Aren’t you afraid?”

Egg doesn’t want to think about the consequences of his little speech. Not yet. “Aerion grows more foolish with each day. And father should know better than to listen to him,” Egg crosses his arms. He won’t back down. “You know that I am right, Daeron, and that Aerion’s plan is as stupid as it is cruel and unjust. Father will see reason.”

“You are stubborn indeed,” Daeron mutters and suddenly smiles at him. “You know, I think father may be impressed.”

Their father still treats him as a child, naive and amusing.

“I hope so,” Egg says. He is not a child anymore. Yet he won’t be like all those other lords and princes. _We can be better._


	16. “Give me a reason not to turn around and walk away now.” (Daemon II and Calla, angst)

In his dreams Calla is just a bright figure in the doorway. He can’t even see her face. In reality she was wrath, her pretty features twisted by anger. No. First was confusion at his plea, then the look of utter betrayal. Only then came anger.

“Give me a reason not to turn around and walk away now,” she snarled.

“Please, Calla, I need your help. Please, just talk to Aegor, try to convince him. Father would’ve wanted you to help me.”

“I don’t care,” she was shaking. “I don’t care about this idea of our father you dreamed of! You’d rather break our mother’s heart for your foolish dreams!” She punched the doorframe. “You would rather have me beg that man for help. Beg my lord husband.”

“Calla, when we have the dragon…“

“I don’t care,” she turned and walked away. It was so long ago. Sometimes in his dreams he runs after her into the terrible, confusing nightmare of the Tyroshi streets. He can never find her.


	17. “Please.” (Baelor and Matarys, fluff with minor injuries, not nose-friendly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> positively nose-unfriendly

“Mother ordered me to distract you,” Matarys said and gave his father a stern look.

Baelor smiled and pushed the papers aside. He did need rest. “Your mother is right. This treaty is giving me a headache.“ The expression on his son’s face was so adorably serious he drew Matarys closer and kissed him on the head. "Are your lessons finished for today? So early?”

Matarys sighed and put his hands on his sides in a clear imitation of Jena, “It is already dinner time, father.”

Indeed, it was getting dark, but Baelor only noticed it now. No wonder his eyes felt so tired. “I’m no better than your uncle Aerys sometimes,” he admitted and laughed at his own misfortune. _Although I don’t welcome this tedious work,_ he thought to himself. He stood up and stretched his shoulders. “What do you want us to do then? We can go for a walk in the godswood? Or maybe you can read me a book?”

Matarys made his pleading face, “Can we play a dragon and a dragonrider? Please?”

Baelor sighed, “Aren’t you too old for it?”

“No. Please!”

“Isn’t your poor father too old for it?”

“No! Of course no!” Matarys grabbed his arm and shook it. “Please! It’s fun! We haven’t played together for ages!”

This was unfortunately true. With shame Baelor realized that he hardly spent time with his youngest son. But father got sick often these last few years, and Baelor had more responsibilities. Oh, how sometimes he longed for his younger years when he wasn’t feeling so terribly tired all the time.

“Very well, climb on, brave dragonrider… if you dare.”

Matarys laughed happily and climbed on his back. And then they ‘flew’ around the solar. Round and round, and it was the dragon who shouldn’t have dared for they gained enough speed to crush into the door frame with force.

CRUNCH

Yellow and white dots danced in front of Baelor’s eyes. His forehead felt numb. _Good thing Matarys was on my back and not on my shoulders, or he could’ve been hurt too,_ he thought, sitting on the floor, blinking and trying to suppress the urge to touch his probably broken nose. The blood was dripping down his face and onto the carpet.

“Could you find maester Yormwell?” he asked his crying, scared son. “Please.”


	18. “Cuddle me.” (baby Baelor and Mariah, hurt/comfort)

Mother looked upset, just as Aerys had warned him, and Baelor suspected she had been crying. He hesitated at the doorstep. _How can I make her feel better?_ Sometimes he wished she wasn’t so intent on hiding her distress from her children. From the little ones, perhaps, but Baelor was old enough, almost eleven, almost a man grown.

“Ah, it’s you, dear. Come in, don’t just stand there.”

“Were you crying, mother?” he asked after some hesitation.

“I’m just very tired after the journey,” she replied with a sad smile.

_Tired after meeting with grandfather Aegon._ Baelor shuddered.

“Has anyone hurt you back there, in King’s Landing?” he tried to sound firm, but he felt a lump in his throat, and he knew mother would sense it.

Mariah sighed and reached to ruffle his hair. “The King is often unkind towards me, but you already know this, don’t you?”

Baelor nodded. He also knew not to talk about it with anyone but his parents. He remembered the last time he was subjected to grandfather and all the other people at court. He was terrified. _If I’m almost a man grown, why am I still so afraid? Why can’t I protect mother or grandmother Naerys from grandfather? Or even simply make mother feel better?_ She was looking at him now with a slight frown on her tired face, and he knew she was already worrying about him.

“Do you want me to bring you flowers from the garden?” he asked quickly. “The golden lilies just bloomed.”

“Leave them be,” Mariah patted the pillows beside her. “Cuddle me?”

For a brief moment Baelor was aghast - he was almost eleven, not a baby! Then he gave up. Mother looked less sad when he hugged her, and it felt good.


	19. “Give me that back!” (Maekar/Dyanna, tiny fluffy snippet)

“Give me that back!” Maekar needs his belt. They depart for King’s Landing in an hour, and Maekar Targaryen is never late. Still, he can’t force himself to frown at his wife.

“No, it’s mine now!” Dyanna is standing on a chair, dangling the belt just out of his reach.

“This is not fair,” he grumbles half-heartedly.

“I’m not fair, I’m a wicked pirate,” she declares. He tries to snatch the belt out of her hands.

“No, wait! The chair!” The chair trips. Dyanna gasps but he catches her before she can fall.

“I could’ve hurt myself,” she mutters. Her eyes are huge with fright.

“I know. I’m sorry I tripped it.”

“No, not your fault,” she puts her arms around his neck, and he blushes. “That was my punishment for being a pirate”, she decides and laughs. He joins in.

“But I’ve caught you.”

“Caught the pirate, my hero.”


	20. “I’m pregnant.” (Dunk’s mom/Dunk’s dad, angst)

It is raining outside. Bea stares out the small window, mesmerized. She can’t stop thinking about wandering the cold dark streets all alone. _He’ll be back,_ she keeps telling herself. _He promised._

The last time she saw Meghoro they were on the roof of the Dragon Gate’s Sept, and he was boasting how he would return from the voyage rich. _He promised we will marry, and he’ll take me away to live in Braavos. And he believed it. He believed his own foolish dreams._ And Bea believed him too, but it was back then, now… _Now aunt will kick me out if she finds out. And it’s too late for the tansy tea._ Bea hugs herself. _What if he never returns? What if he doesn’t want a baby from me?_ She is far from a beauty, too strong for a woman and freakishly tall. Before Meghoro she never imagined that anyone could want her.

“A cow,” aunt calls her when she is angry. “A good, strong working horse,” uncle Watt corrects his wife when he is drunk and talkative. “The girl has the blood of the giants in her,” he often adds and roars with laughter. He isn’t an angry drunk, her uncle, and her aunt never beats her. Bea knows she should be grateful, but their words still hurt. _And what will happen if they find out before Meghoro returns? The unforgiving streets of King’s Landing._

She misses Meghoro, his stories, his kisses, his love. That last time they kissed on the roof under the stars - there were so many of them in the night sky! Meghoro said they should wait for a falling star that brings good luck. They never saw one.

_Please, Meghoro, come back soon,_ Bea silently pleads, still staring at the dark street. _I’m pregnant._


	21. “Are you scared?” (Baelor/Jena, hurt/comfort)

It was already getting dark, and a storm was rising when Baelor finished the long and tedious talk with Lord Velaryon and returned to the guestrooms. He hoped to spend the rest of the evening writing letters to his family, but when he opened the door to the bedroom he found his disheveled wife huddled in the corner of the bed, a pillow clutched to her chest. She was staring at the open window, eerily stiff.

“Jena? What happened?” In the dusk he almost tripped on the carpet. Jena turned her head and opened her mouth to reply when the room was lit by a lightning flash, and she shut her eyes and shook her head in clear discomfort. Baelor stared at her, confused and unsure of what to do. The sound of thunder made her groan. What was going on? Was she ill? Was she…

“Are you scared?” he asked. It was ironic, in a way.

Jena raised her head and gave him a dirty look. “I’m just uncomfortable… Yes, I know, it’s very amusing. My cousin has told me many times how silly I am. Afraid of our own sigil, ha-ha,” she rasped and hid her face in the pillow.

“It isn’t silly,” he hurried to assure her. She looked truly upset, and he didn’t know how to approach her - they have been married for barely a month and were still awkward around each other. “Aemon the Dragonknight was deathly afraid of bees, did you know? Grandmother Naerys told me herself,” he said, hoping to make her laugh. Jena gave an unamused snort in return.

“Do you want me to call your maids or Lady Rowena?” They came to Driftmark with a minimal retinue, but Lady Swann was one of Jena’s closest friends. _She would know what to do,_ he thought. But Jena just shook her head.

“Maybe we can ask for another room? With windows facing the inner yard?”

“No, it would only inconvenience everyone and cause rumours. Besides, I’m not _that_ afraid. Not when I’m inside.” Another flash of lightning made her turn away and press her face into the bed’s headboard.

“Why haven’t you closed the shutters?” Baelor was perplexed. He should’ve asked it first, but he was too confused and worried.

“Too heavy. You were away, and I already dismissed Daisy for the night.”

“You should’ve asked.” The shutters were of the old design and very heavy indeed, but he guessed there was another reason for Jena leaving the window open. She was huddling with the pillow again, silent and sullen. “See, now it will be better,” he told her after winning a brief battle with the shutters. The room was now almost completely dark, but they still could hear the storm and the thunder. Baelor sighed and returned to the bed to lie down beside his wife. He wished he knew how to comfort her. And one part of him wished she was hiding her face into his shoulder and not in that stupid pillow.

“Are you sure you don’t want another room?”

“No. It’s not that bad, truly. I won’t shake or cry. It’s the lightning that scares me the most.”

“Then why were you…”

“Staring at the window?” her laugh was bitter, unlady-like. “I thought I would weather it this time. Father says we should fight our fears.”

“You can’t fight the storm.”

“Very wise, my prince.”

“But that’s true. You can’t just unwish your fear. So why do you need to suffer?”

“It’s not… I wasn’t always such a coward. I used to be a very adventurous child when I was little,” Jena said. She was silent for several moments before speaking again. “I was maybe seven or eight, and I got lost in the marches. Mother organized a picnic of sorts, and I wandered away. Two days… It was terrible. No shelter and then the storm… the thunder… and the lightning from one side of the sky to the other side…” Now Baelor could feel her shaking slightly beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he said and gingerly took one of her hands. It was cold and clammy. “I wish to comfort you…”

She turned her face to him. Then her other hand let go of the pillow and slowly moved to clutch his doublet.

“It’s good that you are here,” she whispered. “I feel better when you are talking. It distracts me.”

“That’s good,” Baelor laughed. “I’m glad to be of service.”

“And I like your voice,” she added.

“Oh. That’s good too.” Now he was blushing. But he was quite certain she was blushing too. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Tell me about Aemon the Dragonknight and the bees?”


	22. “What are you doing?” (Shiera and Adelaide (OC), first meeting)

That stupid ring! It’s gone! She probably dropped it somewhere in the garden when she came here to read before her morning lessons. Shiera turns around, searching and trying not to look upset. It’s a trinket, really, a cheap little thing, she has better jewelry. Lady Velaryon whispers something to the old Rowan septa. Are they looking at her? She won’t cry. No, Serenei’s daughter won’t show them her tears. But where can it be?

“What are you doing?” a tall, bony Dornish girl of Shiera’s age asks. Shiera has seen her around - Lord Wyl’s natural daughter, she often sits in the garden reading. The rumours say Lord Wyl has asked Daeron to legitimize her.

“Have you lost something?” the girl asks again. She has a book under one arm, and Shiera briefly wonders what it is about.

“It’s nothing important,” Shiera replies in her haughty voice. She doesn’t need help, does she?

“I can help,” the girl insists. She is nosy, but her face is serious, and Shiera can hear neither pity nor mockery in her voice.

“It’s a ring, just a little silver ring with a clover engraved on it,” she admits at last. She is _that_ desperate.

“I see. Are you sure you lost it here? Maybe you can search on this side of the path, and I’ll search on the other side,” the girl suggests. “When did you last see it?”

“I was reading here. Then I returned to my rooms. Then I went to the library to have my lessons with maester Cleos. When I got there the ring was gone,” Shiera explains. “I’ve already searched my rooms. I should’ve dropped it here. Sometimes I take it off and play with it.” A bad habit and very unladylike, Septa Lyarra tells her.

“Oh, I saw you in the morning, you were reading by the fountain… I know!” the Sand girl claps her hands, startling Shiera, and rushes to the fountain. Shiera thinks she is going to jump right in, but the girl bends over the rim. “I see it!” she exclaims and with a great splash plunges her arm into the water. Everybody in the garden is looking at her, and someone laughs. Shiera frowns.

The girl emerges victorious. “Here it is! Is it your ring?”

Shiera hurries up to her. It is her ring. The girl’s left sleeve is soaked through. She drops the ring on Shiera’s palm. It's a stupid, cheap little thing, but it used to be her mother’s.

“Thank you,” Shiera says in a softer voice. She can’t help but be grateful.

“I remembered you sitting there and immediately thought you dropped it into the water,” the girl proudly explains.

“I should have searched the fountain first hand,” Shiera mutters, a little ashamed.

“You probably were too worried. I am Adelaide.”

“I’m Shiera,” she introduces herself, although the girl should already know. “And what are you reading?”


	23. “If we get caught, I’m blaming you.” (Shiera, Aerys, Daeron II, crack)

Maester Bryan yawns, gets up from his chair, stretches his shoulders, picks up a stack of books and finally leaves for the Small Library Hall. _Finally._

“It’s time,” Shiera whispers.

“Too risky. He won’t be gone for long,” Aerys whines.

“That’s why we move now!” She leaves their hiding place and gracefully, or so she thinks, glides to the maester’s desk. Aerys trudges behind her.

“Here they are! The forbidden keys!” The keys to the secret section of the library. They know where it is, they heard whispers about it, they were denied the access. The section full of books about dark magic and other marvelous topics.

“If we get caught, I’m blaming you,” Aerys whispers in her ear. Although he is four years older, it is Shiera who takes the lead. She smiles her most wicked smile at him, and they proceed towards the small door that hides the secret knowledge. _Soon…_

“Do you think they have anything about the Doom there?” Aerys wonders while Shiera fumbles with the lock. Now he sounds more excited than concerned. “Or the true tale of princess Aerea and her journey?”

“I doubt it,” says a very familiar voice behind them. Shiera freezes. Aerys gasps. They turn. Daeron emerges from behind the bookshelves.

“Father, we…”

“I see you stole the keys. Not the behavior I expected from my son.”

“We would’ve put them back,” Aerys mumbles weakly.

“I hope so. And still it is a very bad thing to do.”

“But it’s not fair!” Shiera exclaims. “We want to read those books too! We are old enough!”

Aerys voices his agreement, “If we are old enough to learn about Aegon’s conquest and the Dance of the Dragons, we are old enough to learn about dark magic and other hidden knowledge too! It’s not fair to deny us!”

“We want to know the truth about the Doom of Valyria and the lands of Sothoryos!”

“And you think you can find that knowledge there?” Daeron interrupts them. Now he looks more amused than angry.

“Yes, we have heard whispers about texts on “improper” arts hidden here, and when we asked maester Yormwell, he said we were too young for that knowledge,” Aerys explains.

“Not all books that are inappropriate for children are about some high spiritual matters or magic,” Daeron says with a sigh. “Please, believe me, those over there are not.”

“Why are they hidden then?” Aerys demands.

Daeron rolls his eyes in a very unkingly manner. “The books behind that door deal with, let’s say, carnal acts.”

They stare at him. Then Shiera understands! She can’t quite suppress giggles. Carnal acts… septa Lyarra has told her about those, and she has heard girls whisper.

Aerys looks horrified. “Carnal acts?” he repeats in disbelief and disgust.

“He means child making. There is a whole room full of books about it!” Shiera explains to him.

“Now, you two, go, return the keys to maester Bryan and apologize,” Daeron tells them in a stricter voice.

“It is all your fault,” Aerys grumbles while they search for the maester.

“Carnal acts,” Shiera giggles again.


	24. “Are you drunk?” (Jena and Manfred Dondarrion, angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alcohol mention, very brief mention of potential domestic violence

“Maester Raynard received a letter from Fawnton. Lady Rowena gave birth to twins, everyone is healthy.”

Manfred isn’t sure why he bothered to deliver the news himself. His sister doesn’t even raise her head at his words. She stares at a cup in front of her, their grandmother’s heirloom, as if it’s the center of her world. Her room is in complete disarray, and father would’ve been oh-so-aghast at how low his precious, perfect Jena had fallen.

“Did you not hear what I’ve just said? Wasn’t Lady Rowena one of your dear friends?”

She snorts, poking the cup with one finger, “Friends… treacherous harlots, all of them!”

Manfred is taken aback. His sister would never use such words! Cousin Beryl told him about Jena's fit during the Sickness, had it addled her wits?

“They all are!” Jena stumbles to her feet and suddenly slams her hands down on the table making grandmother’s heirloom clank. “They all betrayed me! I know Rowena since… for ages! And she was surely eager to run back to that lord… lord… never mind! And the rest, so happy to serve the perfect bitch Aelinor!”

_Perfect bitch, that’s a good one_ , Manfred thinks, eyeing his sister warily. Then the realization hits him.

“Are you drunk?” That’s just too delicious. “Father would’ve been appalled,” he intones in the sweetest voice he can master. She surely doesn’t behave like father’s favourite daughter. Jena stares at him, and the way one half of her face is still not quite right unnerves him.

“Father?” she slurs. “No, father would’ve understood. He would’ve supported me! Not you. He would’ve allowed me to rule Blackhaven, not someone as incapable as you.”

She advances on him, but he stands his ground.

“I was father’s heir! Then you were born…”

“That’s thirty years too late to complain.” He gives his sister a measuring look. “And some old drunk woman who hasn’t lived here for decades would surely excel at running the castle.”

“I consulted with maester Raynard and old Myron. I know what is going on.” 

_Jena, ever so beloved by the servants._

“Going behind my back already? Perhaps your ladies in waiting abandoned you so quickly because they found you overbearing and insufferable.”

She gasps and he thinks, _If she strikes me, I’ll strike her back._ But she just bores into him with her hateful eyes.

“Careful, little brother,” she grits out at last, smiling her twisted smile. “Our people, many remember me, and others already like me more than they like you. I don’t need those treacherous 'friends' when I can have my Blackhaven.”

Manfred gives her a poisonous look. “We will see.”


	25. “Shut up and kiss me.” (Aelinor and Aerys, during the betrothal)

They walk around the Aegon’s garden, and her betrothed is droning on and on about rare plants and their uses, mostly spiritual and magical. Aelinor has to admit that in other circumstances it would have interested her. Yet the healing properties of the Volantene hibiscus won’t make her and her future husband any closer. She feels as if there is a wall between her and Aerys, a wall he intends to maintain. _It’s a pity,_ she thinks. He is a rather good-looking man despite his somewhat stooped shoulders and awkward gait. As he talks about the Ghost Grass of Essos his violet eyes shine with passion and intelligence. _Shut up and kiss me_ , she thinks suddenly, and what a silly thought this is.

Aloud she says, when he pauses for a breath, “This is all very interesting, my prince. Perhaps you can tell me what flower symbolizes a loving and fertile marriage?” 

He nods and opens his mouth to answer, then notices her playful smile and a blush on her cheeks. She can see when the realization hits him. _As if I’ve stricken him and not flirted with him._ He recoils from her and her hand, and his expression becomes suspicious, guarded. Aelinor wants to stomp her feet and run away, to pout at the least, but her mother have taught her that honesty can sometimes salvage a crumbling relationship. And so she smiles sadly at her Aerys. 

“Am I so scary, Your Grace?” her voice is deliberately soft and pensive. “Please, forgive me, my prince, but I fear I have offended you in some way. Could you tell me how I have displeased you? Or perhaps you dislike me…”

Aerys interrupts her. “I find you a lovely young lady. Your knowledge of the stormland’s history gives you credit,” he states in a dry voice. “I am sure you would make the most agreeable wife.”

“Yet you don’t wish to wed me?” she asks, horrified by her own straightforwardness.

“I don’t wish to wed,” he retorts. “But there is nothing either of us can do about it, unless we want to inconvenience our families.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Do _you_ wish to break this betrothal, my lady?” he asks at last, and is that hope on his face?

She thinks about it. She has thought about it before, when she first noticed Aerys’ reaction to her. 

“No,” she replies, firm.

“Very well. Then it will happen,” he makes a weird awkward half-bow in her direction. “We should return, the dinner should be ready.” And he walks away, leaving her behind. She has to hurry to catch up with him.

“They can’t think we’re not getting along,” she chides him and hooks her arm through his.

“I can promise you this, my lady,” he says as they reach the Dining Hall. “I won’t touch you if you don’t wish, and there will be no one else, no one to compete with you.” His face is sad and almost beautiful. 

_Shut up,_ Aelinor thinks.


	26. “Help me I’m stuck.” (young Baelor and Jena, meet ridiculous)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not in canon with other BxJ drabbles

Jena knew it was unwise to sneak out when the royal party was only a day or two away from Blackhaven, but she had to check on her Frog Bridge, to see whether it had withstood the storm. _I’ll be back in four hours, father won’t even notice_ , she told herself as she climbed the slopes of the Warrior’s Ridge. The barely visible track that woodcutters had used many years ago was familiar, the morning air was crisp and refreshing, and Jena made a good pace. Only when she reached the abandoned Watch Tower did she hear something alarming. A horse was neighing, and so far away from the main road. 

Jena hesitated. Father often scolded her for being too unafraid of the mountains, warned her to be more cautious. But she couldn’t help herself. Carefully she approached and circled the Tower to discover the most unusual sight. A beautiful black palfrey stood tethered to a bush. Jena could tell that the horse must have cost a fortune, and its saddle looked like a master’s work. At the same time the horse’s owner (or so Jena presumed) was visible only partially, for only his legs and behind were sticking out of the opening that was used to enter the tower. The legs were kicking as if struggling. 

Jena looked around, perplexed. She couldn’t hear or see other people, and the curiosity got the better of her. She walked up to the struggling person, wondering whether he could hear her. _Good boots,_ she noticed. But she still didn’t know what to make out of this situation. The only other entrance to the tower was sealed long time ago, but… she gave the old gnarly oak that grew just under the tower’s shadow a contemplating look. She wasn’t much of a climber, but the branches started very close to the ground, and she thought she could manage it. She had been to the tower before and knew that the ladder that led to the ground floor was mostly intact. _How difficult can it be? The children from the village climb trees even taller than this._

By the time she reached the narrow window she was sweaty and dizzy. Still she climbed in and quickly found the crumbling stairs. Halfway down she had to stop and catch her breath. Her head was spinning. She was very proud of herself, though.

Once she calmed down, she took a look down the stairs. In the dim light she could see the ground floor and the horse’s owner. A Dornish boy, around her age, and a highborn, judging by his attire. He had heard her and looked up, eyes wide with alarm. They stared at each other, sizing each other up. 

After a moment the boy smiled a weak smile. “Help me, I’m stuck,” he said in a small voice. 

By the looks of him, Jena guessed he should have been travelling with the royal party and safe, so she descended the stairs and crouched in front of him to acсess the situation. It looked like the small opening she and the other children used to enter the tower wasn’t wide enough for the slightly older boy and his heavy doublet.

“Please, can you pull me in? I’m getting a little light-headed,” he asked. “Or push me out?” He still smiled, despite his apparent unease. 

Jena noticed that his hands were scratched, in the attempts to free himself, no doubt. _It should’ve been scary to be stuck here all alone,_ she thought. She grabbed the boy’s arms and tried to pull him in, but her attempt turned out to be fruitless.

“No, stop! Please, my stomach hurts like this!” he pleaded. She let go and herself fell backwards with a yelp. 

“Are you hurt? I’m sorry. Just my belly hurts a lot.” The boy looked even more upset than before. Jena tried to blink back sudden tears. They both were getting frustrated and angry.

“Let’s try to push me out?” he suggested once she composed herself and nodded back at him.

After some struggling and huffing she felt like they could be successful. “I think we can do it, but your doublet will probably rip,” she told him. 

“Oh, please, do it! I can’t be stuck here any longer,”he groaned.

Jena used all her strength, and with the final push the doublet ripped, and the boy was free. He scuttled backwards and disappeared from her sweaty view. Jena gave the opening an apprehensive look - after all she herself grew bigger since the last time she visited the tower, and she didn’t intend to get stuck herself. But she didn’t want to climb that awful tree again. At the end she crawled through with only a little trouble.

The boy was sitting on the grass, kneading his shoulders. Jena gave him a polite smile. 

“It’s good to be free,” the boy said and suddenly burst into a long, loud laugh. Jena stared, afraid he would bring unwanted attention, but not daring to shush him.

“I apologize,” he said after his laughing fit had ceased. He got up from the ground and walked up to her. “My predicament was ridiculous, but your help was the most welcomed. You saved me, as silly as my situation was. I am truly grateful.” He then smiled again, and his smile seemed sincere.

Jena was glad he didn’t felt slighted by her seeing him in such a silly position. Michael Caron had broken his betrothal to Lisa Selmy over her laugh at his harp, after all. Or so the rumour said.

“I was glad to be of help,” she said. It was clear that neither of them wanted to introduce themselves, so both decided not to ask for names or titles. Jena scratched her left arm, feeling more awkward than usual. _He should understand I’m highborn and my hair…_ she could imagine the rumours… 

Meanwhile, the boy was trying to take a look at the back of his torn doublet. _Such a shame, it was beautiful._ Now it looked like a wild beast had attacked it.

“Do you think it can be mended?” the boy wondered. He didn’t sound particularly concerned.

Jena scrunched her face, “Perhaps? They have a very good seamstress in Blackhaven. Goodwife Lora. If she would take such a masterful work. But she is very skilled.”

“Thank you again!” the boy exclaimed. His brown eyes were warm. 

Jena felt the urge to adjust her hair. “Your hands are scratched,” she told him instead, “and you shouldn’t be wandering around alone in these parts.”

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the old road, “I am with my father’s party. We made a camp near the road below. I wanted to see the ruins of the Watch Tower, the innkeeper at the Grey Bridge told us all about it. I wanted to explore it alone and then tell my brothers a grand tale of my adventures,” he smiled again, this time ruefully. “Wasn’t my best decision.”

_Father’s party?_ Oh. _Oh…_ Jena felt her face growing red. 

He gave her a look, “You are here all alone too.”

“I… I know… places around here,” she mumbled weakly. Why did this happen to her? The day started out so well! And what would grandmother say? "And… I just wanted to see my Frog Bridge,” she blurted out, suddenly brave and curious. It was incredibly improper, but she wanted to see his reaction. What did she have to lose now, anyway.

“A Frog Bridge?” 

She gestured to him to follow her. He shuffled from foot to foot then made up his mind. “Let’s go.” He turned to his horse, “Can Shadow go with us? He doesn’t like being left alone.”

“Yes, there is a small road, but it will take longer.”

They descended the path for some time, and all the while he was asking questions about the mountains and telling funny stories about Shadow. Jena was trying to figure out whether he knew who she was.

“Here,” she said once she heard the creek. She left her companion behind and rushed forward, nervous again. The bridge still stood, but its middle section had collapsed. Jena wrung her hands in disappointment.

“What is this? Who made it?” he caught up with her.

She groaned, “I… I made it, I wanted to build a small copy of a bridge near Fawntown, it’s stone and wood…” She wandered into the creek. The water reached her ankles, but she paid it no mind. “It didn’t withstand the storm,” she lamented.

“You build it by yourself?” he followed her into the water and looked from her to the bridge. “But you can repair it then? I can help!”

She gave him a suspicious look. Was he sincere? Everybody told her she was childish, playing pretend at her age. She wrung her hands some more, “Yes, I can repair it, but I need to find more stones.” 

They worked for the rest of the morning, and he turned out to be a great help. Jena was surprised how little trouble she had thinking with a stranger near her. She thought they were having a great time together… until the man in the white armour found them. 

Jena stared in awe and horror as the knight approached them, a real knight of the Kingsguard, tall and powerful, his white cloak trailing behind him. Jena’s companion stared at his feet.

“Your Grace!” the knight cried out at the sight of his prince covered in mud, shuttering the illusion of anonymity. Jena lowered her gaze, suddenly ashamed. What was she thinking about?! Now the Kingsguard would think she is a boor, he would tell the King!

“Ser Willem, nothing bad had happened to me,” the prince assured the knight. “See, we were repairing this bridge…” 

The knight gave Jena a dubious look, and just then another man appeared from the same direction. Her uncle. Not uncle Manfrey, no, it was her mother’s brother, Ser Jerald. And he hated Jena’s father.

“Here he is! And my niece is here? Meeting early I see, how nice!” he exclaimed in a fake sweet voice. “What were they doing here? Please, excuse lady Jena, Your Grace, she is still such a child.”

“There is nothing to excuse,” prince Baelor said. “Lady Jena helped me when I got… lost,” he gave her an encouraging smile. Sheepishly she smiled back.

“Now, your father is searching for you,” the white knight said. “You shall meet Lady Dondarrion again soon. Please, excuse us, my lady.”

Jena felt herself blush. A Kingsguard, a real knight of the Kingsguard had just addressed her! Ser Willam Wylde had won the tourney at Storm’s End twice! She curtsied, and Baelor gave her a suddenly pointed look. Was he already regretting meeting her? She swallowed nervously.

“I will escort the girl back to Blackhaven and bring the news of the King’s soon arrival,” uncle Jerald had proclaimed before she figured out what to say to the prince. 

Baelor waved at her, and he seemed friendly again. Jena felt relieved. But after Baelor, Ser Willam and Shadow disappeared from the view, uncle grabbed her roughly by the arm. She yelped and almost cried out for help. 

“You and your father, you think you are very smart, aren’t you?” uncle hissed and shook her by her arm. “Or was it your horrid grandmother’s idea? They fear the King gives you one look and breaks the betrothal, so they send you out to seduce the little prince? Just desperate and vulgar enough for your family.” He pulled her by the arm all the way back to Blackhaven.


	27. "What am I going to do with you?” (baby Dunk, Arlan and Chestnut)

No crying. Crying makes men mad. Crying makes them beat you. It’s all the bad horse’s fault. Horses are bad. They bite and they kick, that’s how stinky Sam died. And this horse is a _thief_. Tried to steal his apple. The man gave the apple to him, but now the man is mad and will beat him. He has to run away now.

“What are you doing there, boy?”

No crying.

“What happened, ugh? Don’t mumble. Why did you throw the stone at poor Chestnut? She works harder than you… stop bawling!”

The man sighs and crouches down. They stare at each other. The man sighs again. “What am I going to do with you?” he mutters. “Stop crying, a knight’s squire doesn’t cry. I won’t shout. Explain now, what happened? Did she scare you?”

“Bad horse. Mean.”

“Chestnut is a good-natured mare! She wanted to make friends with you, most likely! Now what? Can’t hear you when you mumble.”

“Wanted to steal my apple.”

The man laughs, then stands up. “Get out of that log, child. Come here. Do you see those trees? Once it was some rich farmer’s orchard, but now it’s abandoned. Those trees belong to no one now, and we can take the apples free. See how many of them? Enough for both you and Chestnut. Do you see?”

He did see the trees before, he just didn’t notice. “I see.”

“Not many trees in the Flea Bottom, ugh?” now the man doesn’t sound angry at all. “As long as it’s not someone’s garden, do you understand? Taking from someone’s trees is bad, gets you in trouble.”

“I know.” Everyone knows that stealing gets you beaten or worse if you’re caught.

“But from the wild trees - take as many as you want,” the man pauses. “Or not too many, or you’ll get sick… Now, pick up two apples. No, that one is bad. Yes, those. One is yours. Another give to Chestnut. You can stand on that barrel. Come on, don’t be afraid. But don’t move too quickly! Don’t startle her!”

The horse is huge, she huffs and bumps her head into his hands. It feels funny. Her lips are soft, and her eyes are brown and big. It looks like she isn’t mad at him.

“See! She likes you!” the man laughs. 

“Sorry I threw that stone at you, I thought you’re a thief,” he whispers, “but the old man says you’re a good-natured mare.”


	28. “Stop distracting me!” (Aerys I and Aelora, angst)

"Stop distracting me!”

Aelora paused at the door, a cup in her hands. She knew, of course, that uncle Aerys could be curt and very impatient at times, but he had never been like that with her, his favourite niece. _But the Spring had changed everything._

“I brought you a herb brew, uncle. It has soothing qualities,” she said patiently. “It will help you sleep.”

She suspected that uncle Aerys hardly slept these days. He looked exhausted, ill. His writing desk, a source of wonder in her childhood years, was even more cluttered than usual. 

For a moment uncle stared at her as if she was a stranger, then his face softened. “Thank you, Lori. Maester Leith and Aelinor have been pestering me the whole day. Bring the cup here, I’ll have it later.” He furrowed his brow, thinking. “Is your father well?” he asked at last.

“He is better.” Father was still bedridden, but the shakes had stopped. They were all so worried, for his fits had never been so intense before. Aelora shivered at the memory. The maesters said that grief made her father’s malady worse. Could grief chain her uncle to his desk?

“What are you studying? Something important?” she asked casually as she came to stand beside him. Perhaps he just needed someone to talk to. Perhaps then he would open up about grandfather and uncle Baelor. Then it would all get better.

“Yes, very important,” Aerys grabbed her arm so suddenly that she nearly spilled the herb brew all over his rare books and scrolls. With a feverish strength he made her sit down on the bench beside him. “See, Lori? Look! This prophecy! It all makes sense now! Read this!”

Aelora frowned at the scrolls. She did find them interesting, but she couldn’t understand why this was so important right now.

“I just need to finish the translation. And the charts, they are very important too. Then, then we will know when the dragons will return, and how we can help.”

She blinked at him, “You think we can have dragons?”

“Oh, not now,” he waved his hand. “Not my generation certainly, and not yours, but one day… Perhaps they will come from your line, Lori,” he nodded to himself. “Yes, your line. Three heads of the dragon to save the world. Then it all will make sense. Otherwise it doesn’t make sense, all those… sickness, deaths… meaningless, senseless… it can’t be senseless like that, the world can’t be like that! Some people in Essos believe in the Pattern, I think they are up to something. Do you understand, Lori?” he turned to her with a pleading expression, but then his face became withdrawn again. 

“Now, go, play outside. I need to finish this translation as soon as possible,” his voice was anxious. “And tell them not to distract me.”


	29. "You said my name in your sleep.” (Daeron/Kiera, shippy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> implied sexual content

They break their fast in awkward silence. Daeron can tell that Kiera wants to talk about something. She looks uncomfortable, almost anxious, and he is glad he didn’t drink too much yesterday. He decides to be brave while his head is clear.

“Is something bothering you?” he asks, the bravest prince of the realm.

Kiera looks at her plate, then at the window, then at him, “Did… did you have any dreams last night?”

“Yes. I think, yes. Why?” he doesn’t understand why she asked that, but he did have quite pleasant dreams last night. _Quite pleasant._ He licks his spoon, smiling.

“No, I meant _**the** dreams_?” she asks in a voice that sounds almost scared.

“Oh. No, not for some time,” he doesn’t want to think about those. Damn, why did she have to remind him? He has been feeling so good lately.

“Are you sure?” she asks again.

“Yes. Believe me, if you had one of those you would remember. But why all the interest?”

She looks down at her plate. ”It’s just… You said my name in your sleep… and I thought… I know it is silly, but I feared you saw my future,” she looks up at him again. “And I don’t want anyone to know while I am in the dark.”

Daeron nods, “If I ever have one about you I will tell you, I promise. Although usually I don’t understand them at all.” He laughs bitterly. “This time you don’t need to worry, it was just a harmless, ordinary dream.” Well, maybe not so harmless for Kiera was very, well, wicked and strict in the dream. He stifles nervous laughter as his cheeks feel hot at the memory.

“What?” Kiera sounds alarmed again. “Tell me.”

“No, no, it was an ordinary dream, I swear!” She raises her eyebrows. “Just of a more intimate nature.”

“Oh.”

His cheeks are burning now. She is his wife, why is he so embarrassed?

“What kind of intimate nature?” her voice has changed, and she is twisting one lock of her green hair round her finger.

“You, you know, husband and wife things, only you were very… umm.” No, he can’t tell. He is sure Valarr had never had those thoughts.

“Well,” Kiera says, raising from her seat, “Tell me that dream in detail. Who knows, perhaps it will turn up to be prophetic.”


	30. “Yes.” (Daemon I Blackfyre, tiny snippet)

“We need to act. Now. There is no time to waste. Not anymore,” Aegor tells him.

Daemon looks out of the window. His Calla is playing with her little brother. They are running and shrieking, trying to catch each other. They don’t know about the risks, so innocent and carefree. Yet, don’t they deserve more than this tiny castle, these unimportant, ordinary lives? They are more, his children, the true heirs of the great dynasty. And he can’t go back to King’s Landing now, it is too late to plead his innocence, to plead for mercy. No, Aegor is right. There is no return.

“Are you going to raise the banners?” his brother demands.

“Yes,” Daemon smiles fondly at his children down below, then turns to Aegor and Ser Quentyn. “The time has come for the true Dragon.”


	31. “Are you jealous?” (Jena and Valarr, crack)

“Mother, may I speak to you? Alone.”

Jena looks up at her son with worry. Why isn’t he in the training yard? He doesn’t look ill or hurt, but he does have that annoyed expression on his face that frustrates her sometimes. It can’t be anything bad. “You worry too much,” Baelor always chides her. And she tries, she really tries not to.

After her maids leave them, she puts aside her embroidery and gestures for Valarr to sit beside her. When he was little he loved to watch her embroider, and even now he gives her work a quick look.

“What happened? Are you upset?” she asks since he isn’t about to start the conversation.

“It’s about Kiera, mother.”

“Kiera?” For Jena Kiera is almost like a younger sister she always wanted to have. It’s hard to imagine that the girl can hurt her son. But young couples sometimes have brief disagreements. Nothing serious. Nothing to worry about. Jena clasps her hands together, “What happened? Did you have a fight?”

Valarr picks up her work and pokes at the flowers. “No, it wasn’t a fight. Just… she is going to accompany you to Blackhaven soon, isn’t she?”

“Yes, and she is so excited about it!” Jena smiles fondly. Just the day before Kiera asked her whether she would need high boots to wear in the marches - it turned out she thought “marches” and “marshes” were the same thing!

“Are you upset because you can’t go with your wife? That’s very sweet, but…”

“No,” he interrupts her with a frown. _And don’t talk to me like I’m a baby,_ his expression tells her.

“Then just tell me why are you upset. You were the one who came here to talk,” she takes her embroidery away from him before he can pull out all the threads.

“Tell you why I’m upset? It’s because of you, mother.”

“Me?” Jena blinks at him. What could she have done wrong? She tries to be a good mother. Everyone already tells her she spoils her sons too much.

“You,” Valarr points an accusing finger at her, “you always want to take Kiera away with you, to Blackhaven, to that stupid sept in the Riverlands. Or you are busy with your dresses and gossiping. Do you have to steal my wife at every opportunity? And she, oh, she wouldn’t stop talking about you! _Lady Jena this_ , _Lady Jena that_ …”

Jena stares at him. “Are you… jealous?” She doesn’t know what to make of his statement. 

“Jealous? I’m not jealous,” Valarr retorts with indignation. “But can you stop doing it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a good thing when a mother and her good daughter are friendly,” Jena tries to explain to him. “Kiera is fond of you, but you need to find more things you can do together.”

“Not when I am not sure who is married to Kiera, you or I.”

Jena stares at her son, trying to stifle her laughter. _This is just silly_ , she thinks. Valarr glares at her. 

Truth be told, she decides later, she is pleased that Kiera looks up to her. 


	32. “Trust me.” (Glendon and his sister)

“Trust me,” Gilly said. “I know what to do.”

Her smile was reassuring, but there was something fake about it. She was afraid, he knows it now.

“And what can you do?” he asked, even though he should’ve realized it right away. They both knew it would happen one day, but he chose not to think about it.

Gilly continued brushing her hair. “I need to start the work soon anyway. And you want it so much, right?”

“You know it,” he couldn’t lie to her.

Gilly put down her comb. “That man isn’t that bad, by the looks of him.” She reached for his hand, “Promise me, Glendon. I will get you your knighthood, but you promise me you’ll get the money and take me away from here!”

* * *

_I promised_ , he thinks as they pull out his fingernails. He has almost forgotten, so caught up in his pursue of his father’s legacy and fame.

_I promised I will take her away_ , he thinks as the scary man with one eye, the sorcerer and the enemy, approaches him with an offer. _She trusts me._


	33. “Bite me.” “If you insist.” (Aelora, Aelor and Daenora, wtf)

Aelora heard angry voices coming from the children’s playroom and hurried up the stairs.

“You’re doing it all wrong!” insisted a young girl’s voice. Daenora’s.

“And what do you know?” Aelor’s voice replied.

Aelora stopped near the door. She knew she should’ve gone right in and played her usual peacemaker part, but she was really curious what the fight was about. Daenora was a noisy, angry child, but Aelor was usually so composed, so boring. He should’ve known better than to pick fights with an eight-year-old.

“Give it to me, I’ll show you how to do it!”

“No, I can do it myself! I don’t need help from a baby!”

Judging by the sounds that followed, Daenora stamped her foot in indignation and overturned one of the toys.

“I am not a baby!”

“Yes, you are. A B-A-B-Y. Little baby. You act as one.”

“I’ll tell mother!”

“Oh, please try and tell. I did nothing wrong.”

“You do everything wrong, even your castle is all wrong, the gate is all crooked!”

Ah, so Aelor was still building his dragon fortress. Aelora guessed she should intervene before the tears started. Her little sister was a master of crying, she could even cry on cue.

“Let me show you,” Daenora insisted.

“Do _not_ touch it!”

There was the sound of a brief struggle, of toys falling, then a yelp and a loud thud. Aelora rushed into the room. Daenora was sitting among the ruins of the fortress. Aelor stood near her with a shocked expression on his face.

“What in the Seven’s name happened here?!”

“He shoved me!”

“She was pestering me… Dae, I’m sorry.”

“No!” Daenora picked up a piece of a broken toy gate and threw it at her brother. “I’ll tell everything to grandfather, and he’ll send you to the Faith!”

“Oh, bite me. Little brat.”

“If you insist!” Daenora cried out dramatically and threw herself at her brother. The next thing Aelora knew, her brother was shrieking like a little baby, and her sister was biting at his arm like a dog.

* * *

It was decided that Daenora would be send to the Vale to serve as their grandmother’s cupbearer, in hopes that pious relatives and fresh mountain air would placate her temper.

“It was your fault too,” Aelora chided her brother. “You know how she is, yet you annoyed her on purpose. You were too protective of that toy fortress.”

Her brother shrugged, “She’s a menace. Truth be told, I hoped she would do something like that and be dealt with. But I would’ve preferred to stay uninjured.” He showed her his still bandaged arm.

Aelora frowned, “She is eight. And you talk as if she is Aerion.”

Aelor laughed, “She is not Aerion. She is smarter. It’s a good thing she is gone.”

Aelora didn’t share the sentiment. And she didn’t like her twin’s satisfied grin. _What is_ your _deal, brother?_ she thought, suddenly anxious.


	34. “I made a mistake.” (Maekar, Maekar/Dyanna)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by a headcanon by [ariel2me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me)

_I made a mistake_ , Maekar thinks as he leads Lady Uller to the dancing floor. He realizes, of course, that hardly anyone would care about his dancing ability, and still he feels as if every pair of eyes in the huge hall is staring at him, judging him. Including Lady Dyanna’s. He didn’t dare to approach her and ask her for a dance, intimidated by the thought of fumbling and stepping on her foot.

Lady Uller is smiling at him. “You are an incredibly skilled dancer, my prince. But I am sure you were told many times before,” she says softly.

Maekar frowns. Is it a jape? He enjoys dancing - it helps to keep his head clear and he doesn’t have to prove anything to anyone, unlike in the training yard - yet he has never thought he could be good at it. Master Vasyl assures him he is “quite able”, and that’s not much of a compliment.

“No one has ever told you before?” Lady Uller looks genuinely surprised. “Oh, please believe me, my prince! You are much more talented than my poor lord Uller, and he fames himself an expert dancer. I am sure many young ladies, who are watching us now, want to be invited by you. Young lady Dayne, perhaps?”

Maekar thanks Lady Uller awkwardly. Now that he thinks about it, he has never heard gruff master Vasyl praise anyone, not even Baelor. _So that’s where I excel,_ he thinks glumly, _dancing. A frivolous activity._ Lady Dyanna is smiling at him from her seat, though, and he feels like making another huge mistake.


	35. “It’s been a while.” “Too long.” (Maekar and Alys)

Maekar greets his good sister at the castle gate.

“It’s been a while,” he says after she and her party dismount, and the official greetings are over.

“Too long,” Alys replies with a wistful smile. She is dressed in one of her infamous riding dresses but looks more restrained and composed compared to how he remembered her. He has never known her well, truth be told, but she and Dyanna were close, and Rhaegel was fond of her. Maekar usually found her bothersome, even if he would have never admitted it to his wife or brother.

Alys gives him a long, measuring look. “You’ve lost weight, good brother.”

“Yes.” What does she want? He leads her into the castle, their retinues following behind.

“You are wondering why I came here?” she whispers.

“Yes.”

“We are family. Dyanna was dear to me. And your brother too.”

And he believes that they were. But now they are dead. 

“I came here to see how you and little Daeron are doing. To see whether you feel well,” she pauses, nods to a passing servant. “To see whether you are ready to return to court.”

Now it is his turn to give her a long look, “Do you want me at court?”

“Depends,” she replies with a smile, just as Daeron bursts out of the hall to greet his aunt.


	36. “I don’t love you anymore!” (Rohanne, Daemon I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mention of canon incest

Rohanne remembers the first year of their marriage. They both were so young, now she believes that no one should be married that young, but they were happy.

“I love you,” she told her beautiful husband one day, and he laughed and kissed her, and told her he loved her too. He claimed he loved both of them - her and that Daenerys, he claimed it was the way of the Dragonlords of old. Rohanne knew about men and women who loved two people at once, yet she had never heard of them humiliating one of their lovers to fuel rumours of a single great love.

And now he tells her their Calla, her little star, is meant for Aegor. Aegor, who is too old for their daughter. Aegor, whom Rohanne loathes.

“We were married young ourselves,” Daemon says, displeasure in his purple eyes.

“We were both young. Aegor is almost your age. And besides, he is her uncle.”

“Uncles marry their nieces sometimes, when it is necessary. Consummation won’t happen until Calla is of age,” he gives her his most assuring, warmest smile. It won’t work on her this time.

“What if I still don’t agree?”

They argue, and he raises his voice at her for the first time.

“I gave him my word! And my word is final!”

_I don’t love you anymore,_ she wants to scream into his handsome, noble face. She wants to see his reaction, she wants to make him hurt. But she is a woman of a perfect Tyroshi upbringing, not an Andal savage who shouts at servants and children and fights her husband within their earshot. Her face stays a mask. Inside she feels powerless, exhausted. She is a potential queen of this land and at the same time just a powerless stranger. How ironic.


	37. “You’re lying.” (Egg and Dunk, the Spring Sickness news)

“You’re lying!” Egg cries out and storms away, leaving Ser Urwin and his squire in the yard, standing in uncomfortable silence. 

“He’s worried about his family back home,” Dunk explains. This is not a lie, and they understand. Ser Urwin’s sister is in King’s Landing, and he knows the fear and the uncertainty.

“At least you’ve kept him safe here,” Ser Urwin says and gives Dunk a pat on the shoulder. Dunk nods, then excuses himself and leaves to search for Egg.

He finds the lad near the old well, pacing with his arms crossed.

“Listen,” Dunk begins. He is not prepared for this talk.

“They are lying! Liars!” Egg exclaims. “Or, or not lying but mistaken! Grandfather had a bad cough last year but he recovered! Why would he die now? And Matarys is just a year older than me!”

Dunk shifts uneasily from foot to foot, trying to think of what to say. How to explain that famine and disease often sweep away whole families, and it’s always unfair. The highborn, they are often sheltered from the worst. But not this time. This won’t console the lad, though. _Ser Urwin is right, we were safe here in Dorne,_ Dunk thinks, _the borders were closed. But does this mean that it was I who kept Egg safe?_ And they still haven’t heard any news about Summerhall.

“Sometimes life isn’t fair,” Dunk tells the boy, trying to suppress the memory of Ashford. “I know you worry about your siblings and your father. Keep hope. Good things also happen all the time, Ser Arlan said.”

Egg shakes his head, “I know. I know we can’t leave right now, the borders were just opened. But father, he would’ve kept the girls and Daeron safe, and everyone in Oldtown is smart, they are maesters, they would’ve known what to do.” He paces some more. “It’s just so hard to believe! Grandfather and my cousins, and old Lord Baratheon, and the kindly High Septon! They say they all are dead!” Egg stops his pacing and rubs his eyes with his sleeve. “When my mother… never mind.”

Dunk can guess what the boy is thinking about. When Egg’s mother or other people he knew died, he saw them dead, he was at their funeral. It was much easier to believe then. But here in Dorne it feels unreal, and Egg doesn’t know how to react. Dunk sighs, sadder than before. 

“We can go to that big Inn with Ser Urwin. Sailors should there. Maybe we will find out more,” he suggests.

Egg nods, now silent and sullen.

Dunk tries to be cheerful, “You know, if you want, once we can leave, we can go first to Oldtown, to see how your brother Aemon is doing.” 


	38. “I’m going to regret this.” (Tanselle, Tanselle and Dunk, future au)

She has put on her finest dress. It’s a present from a cousin who married a merchant from the Reach, and it’s very pretty, embroided with violet flowers and silvery leaves, if still a bit too short for her. Tanselle looks in the small mirror she brought from Braavos. She thinks she looks good. But Ser Duncan is a renowned knight now, why would he even notice how she looks?

_I’m going to regret this,_ she thinks. She knows it will be foolish to approach him. But she has never thanked him. They run away at her uncle’s insistence, first to Dorne, than to Braavos, where she recovered and learned so many new things. She slips her feet into her best shoes - also new, also a present from her relatives. It is time to go, yet she is still torn - she wants to see Ser Duncan again, the boy who saved her and tried to flirt with her, but Ser Duncan who serves a Targaryen king frightens her. She doesn’t want to be disappointed.

_Who is he now? Still a true knight?_

Who is she now? Still a frightened girl? A woman long grown, who’s travelled far, who knows what she wants?

_We will see._

She gives herself another look in the mirror before leaving for the castle.


	39. “Do that again.” (Duncan the Small, Ghost of High Heart, Jenny, first meeting)

They say Oldstones are mysterious, even sinister, but Duncan doesn’t feel like it is true. Under the bright summer sun, surrounded by green woods, the ancient ruins look peaceful and friendly, even if a bit lonely. Or perhaps it is his ‘wild’ imagination making him think weird things again. He sits down on a stone and plays his newest tune on his flute. He hopes Ser Duncan and Ser Glendon will find him soon. He has been to these parts of the riverlands before, yet somehow he got lost. _How silly,_ he thinks and imagines how he would tell the story of his misadventures to Daeron. _If I stay in one place, right here, they will find me._

“Do that again,” a voice says from behind him, and he nearly falls over the stone. This is truly not his most dignified day.

The voice belongs to a tiny woman with eerily pale skin. She wears a giant straw hat, just as the one Duncan imagines his father had worn during his childhood adventures, and despite the warmth, she covers herself with a shawl. _The woods witch._ Duncan has heard about her from the townsfolk of Fairmarket, but he imagined a much older woman. _They say she lives in a cave with only a feral child to keep her company._

“Excuse me?” he blurts out, still too astonished by her sudden appearance.

“Do it again, play that tune.”

“Do you like it, my goodwoman?” he asks with a smile.

She snorts. “Not that bad. And it’s something I haven’t heard before. Some new song from the town?”

“I composed it myself,” Duncan declares with pride. The courtiers have praised it, as they always do, and Rhaelle has offered suggestions for improvement, as she always does, but he could still tell that no one really cared about it. Just another of the young prince’s eccentricities, he knows they say his head is always in the clouds. _This wild woman cares. Maybe she’ll give me a magical… something, a magical gift in exchange for the music! Wouldn’t it be just splendid?_

“If you insist, my goodwoman, I’ll play it for you. I called it…” she gives him an impatient nod. “Never mind.”

He plays the music, and the woman listens, her eyes closed. It’s by the end of the tune when another voice interrupts them.

“Briar? Briar, where are you? Briar!” A girl, no older than Duncan, runs out of the woods and rushes up the slope towards them. She is tall, with dark eyes and a huge boil on her chin. Her simple peasant dress is filthy, and she has a bundle of fish slung over her shoulder, yet her wild brown hair is adorned with yellow flowers.

“Now, Jenny,” the woods witch scolds her. “Why’re you shouting and interrupting my music?”

Jenny looks at Duncan, and her eyes grow wide, as if she has just noticed him. She makes a quick, strange bow in his direction. “M’lord… I… it’s all Pate, from the village. He shouted at me again. But I took no fish this time, I swear! Briar, go, tell him! I caught them all myself!”

“Don’t mind her, m’lord,” the woods witch, Briar, tells him. When she says 'm’lord’ it sounds like a mockery. “Poor Pate teases Jenny because he’s taken with her. There’s no harm.”

“Not true!” Jenny protests. It’s hard to look at her because of the boil. Or it may be a huge, huge pimple. It is horrible. Duncan shudders at the sight of it.

“This young lord was playing music for me. New tune, made it himself,” Briar continues, she seems to like the sound of her own voice, “when you so rudely interrupted us.”

“Oh. I… I apologize,” Jenny bows again and then smiles at Duncan. “Briar loves music.” 

“I can play it again,” Duncan says helpfully. He doesn’t have anything better to do anyway. Perhaps they could even know where the royal party is staying.

“Please, do!” Jenny exclaims. “I want to hear it too!”

“It’s lovely! Briar loves it, I can tell!” she says once he finishes and claps her hands loudly. “There’ll be music at the village fair tomorrow,” she tells him. “Down where the new bridge is. I love listening to the fair from the Old Oak tree.”

Briar gives Jenny a disapproving look. “Now, don’t bother m’lord with this nonsense. He has no interest in village fairs. Give him some fish as a ‘thank you’ and let’s go, I was under the Sun enough for today.”

“Oh, of course,” Jenny makes the same weird bow and gives Duncan two smelly slimy fishes.Briar just nods in his direction, and then she and Jenny turn and start to descend the slope. 

That’s when Ser Glendon emerges from the woods, looking daggers. Jenny stares at the knight in the white armour with an open mouth, while Briar and Ser Glendon eye each other appraisingly.

“Here, Ser Glendon!” Duncan calls out, interrupting their staring match. Briar and Jenny disappear behind the trees by the time the knight reaches the stones.

“What are you doing here, Your Grace?” he requires with suspicion.

“Nothing indecent, just playing music in exchange for fish,” Duncan replies loftily, showing off his two trouts.


	40. “I’m running away.” (baby Baelor angst)

The stables were warm and quite, the sounds of the loud, lavish feast didn’t reach there.

“I’m running away,” Baelor sobbed into Raincloud’s mane. Raincloud was his friend, a gift from grandmother Allyana, and the best pony in the world. But he had to leave Raincloud behind. “I’m sorry, you would be too noticeable. They’ll search for me.” 

Search for him - yes, but, most likely, not too hard and not for long. _The King wouldn’t care less. No, he would probably be delighted when I disappear,_ Baelor thought darkly. He stroked his pony’s mane while it tried to nibble at his sleeve. Raincloud didn’t understand that they would be separated forever.

Baelor knew he had to leave soon, before anyone noticed his absence from the feast. He also knew he should’ve taken Rhaegel with him, for they shared the dark Dornish features so despised by the King’s court, but they wouldn’t be able to find his brother's medicine while on the road. _He won’t have it that bad because Aerys would be father’s heir,_ Baelor told himself. 

Baelor didn’t want to be father’s heir anymore. He was a prince, kind and courteous, just as father had taught him to be, yet the King only sneered at him, and the lords and ladies snickered behind his back. Never in his face. And he knew, oh, he knew that someone shoved him at the feast today, and when he stumbled and fell, they laughed. He was a prince, yet they laughed, grandfather the loudest of them all, and that laugh wasn’t good-natured, it was full of malice. After that Baelor couldn’t bear it. His friends were all false, and his own grandfather scared him. Mother promised they would leave for Dragonstone soon, but even so, the King would still be here. And Baelor couldn’t maintain his facade, couldn’t make father proud with that terrifying presence in their life. It was better to run away.

It was time to go, but still he lingered. He had a good plan, it wasn’t just a childish _'I’ll pack up and run away blindly, then they will see'_ idea, like that time when he was seven, and mother was arguing with father, and he wanted their attention. No, this time he thought it all through - how he would get to Dorne and his bastard cousin Ser Yoran who would help him to travel to Essos where he would become an outlaw on the Great River Rhoyne.

He wiped his face on his sleeve, like an outlaw would do, and prepared himself for departure. _Now, I have to leave now._ Mother would cry of course, but she had his brothers, and grandfather would say things about her… No, he couldn’t go. He knew it from the start, of course. He just wanted to pretend… Raincloud huffed and bumped his head into Baelor’s shoulder. Baelor felt acutely ashamed. _Silly little boy, caught up in a fantasy and self-pity._

“Baelor? What are you doing here?” his father stood at the stables entrance. His voice sounded as worried and tired as usual. “Your mother is searching for you.”

_Just wanted to cry like a baby and dream of some stupid adventures._

“I… I just wanted to see how my pony is doing,” he replied in his usual cheerful voice. He hated it sometimes.

“Is it so? And how is he doing?”

Baelor shrugged, not falling for his father’s trick question. “He is well. Ate two carrots.”

“Let’s return then. Mariah would want to check on you herself.”

Baelor said _‘goodnight’_ to his pony and trudged to his father, defeated. He couldn’t help but imagine mother’s grief-stricken face at the news of his disappearance.

They left the stables behind and slowly walked towards the looming Holdfast. Baelor looked down at his feet. He couldn’t have been so selfish as to think of leaving father and mother and his brothers, could he? No, he wasn’t that selfish.

Suddenly father leaned down and hugged him. “I’m sorry the King was so cruel today. He’s just drunk,” he whispered. _Dangerous words here._ "Now, I think there should be some dessert left for you," father added in a brighter voice.

With one longing look towards the gates and freedom behind them, Baelor followed his father inside.


	41. “I need your help.” (Tanselle hurt/comfort, Tanselle and OC, post THK)

Tanselle can hear her uncle talking with someone downstairs.

“I need your help,” uncle says.

“What is it?” asks a gruff voice.

“We need to go to Braavos, the sooner the better.”

“Hmm, I’ve just returned.”

“You owe me, remember? And Tanselle worries me. Come to the kitchen, you can eat, and I’ll tell you what happened.” The voices grow fainter as they move to the adjacent room.

Tanselle doesn’t share her uncle’s fears. She thinks no one would bother to search for them in Dorne. But ever since the news of the trial and prince Baelor’s death reached them, uncle and aunt have been restless. No news about the fate of the hedge knight. That’s what worries Tanselle. _Is it all my fault?_ No, she refuses to take the blame. _It’s all his fault! Aerion’s!_ The Bright Prince smiles in her nightmares. Her fingers still hurt. _Why wasn’t he punished? He broke my fingers and my puppets. He should’ve been the one to die! And if he hurt Ser Duncan…_ She is helpless here… and what could she have changed regardless? All she can do is sit in her room all day while her aunt and uncle worry and argue below. She can hear most of it. Now she hears heavy footsteps on the stairs, and then a short, muscular man appears in the door of her room.

“Is this the little Tanselle?! All grown up! Remember your uncle sailor? Now captain!”

Yes, her uncle’s childhood friend and a distant relative. She rises to greet him.

“Well, look at you! Taller than me now!” he roars with laughter. She was the same height as him at ten years of age, so it’s not surprising. 

_Did he bring those Tyroshi fingers?_ she wonders lazily. She remembers those sweets with fondness. But he doesn’t have anything in his hands.

“We haven’t seen each other in a long time,” she says politely, unsure of what he might want from her. Her uncle trusts him as a brother. _He is family, he won’t hurt me._

“I’ve been travelling. Been to Qohor and seen Mantarys. My Green Star is a marvel. Wait till you see her! And you? Doryan tells me you just sit here, inside, since your arrival?”

“Uncle won’t let me go farther than the outhouse. He’s too cautious.”

Uncle sailor chews his lip, thinking about something. It looks like even he isn’t sure how to approach her. 

“Hmm, so, the sad girl, you haven’t seen the River Swans then?” he asks at last.

She shakes her head, a little surprised. She’s never heard of swans here on the Greenblood.

“And I, a sailor, a wandering soul, already saw them! Let’s go, we can see them from the roof, and your uncle won’t be mad if we don’t leave the house. Just take your shawl or what do you have. Tessa’ll have my hide if you get chilled.”

It is easier to follow him than to argue. Besides, her Greenblood pride is hurt by not knowing about this new thing. 

When she feels the cold breeze on her face and sees the evening sky, she realizes with longing that she, indeed, has been bottled up inside for too long. 

“There, look! On the river!”

Tanselle gasps in surprise. Giant swans, made of wood, perhaps? They are painted brightly and decorated with lights. The sight of them on the dark river, under the first stars is breathtaking.

“Pretty, eh? New idea of old Yda and her husband.”

Tanselle looks at the Swans with admiration and longing. Her hand still hurts, but she aches to resume her craft again. If only she could someday create something so beautiful it would take people’s breath away.

“Doryan wants you to go to Braavos.”

“I know.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best. You can see some amazing views there, little Tanselle. I can tell that you’ll love it there.”

_I can heal there._

“I’m two heads taller than you, uncle sailor,” Tanselle says with a smile. It is genuine. “Tanselle-Too-Tall they call me.”

_But he said I wasn’t too tall._

Perhaps uncle sailor is right. She doesn’t want to be destroyed by the Bright Prince. She wants to travel again and see things. She wants to return to Dorne with a healed hand, unafraid.

Uncle sailor is laughing at her words, “You’re still a little girl to me. And to your uncle and your aunt, little tall Tanselle. Let us help.”

“If I’m still a child, where are those marvelous sweets you used to bring from the Free Cities?” she teases him. It’s just a tease… still couldn’t he bring some?

“Oh, I have some great presents for you and Tessa. Don’t you worry,” he winks at her in his usual humorous manner. “I left them with your uncle in the kitchen. I think there might even be a box of Tyroshi fingers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continues in chapter 61


	42. “If I die, I’m going to come back and haunt you.” (Aerys, Baelor, Mariah, crack)

“If I die, I’m going to come back and haunt you,” Baelor tells him.

Aerys cannot understand this attitude. “This is not dangerous. Both Renat of Braavos and maester Lyonid agreed that this is the best treatment,” he explains again. “Besides, you don’t believe in hauntings.”

“I don’t, but I will become the first ghost just to bother you,” Baelor replies and gives the brewing an apprehensive look.

“And I say this is unnecessary and cruel. Do you really want to subject your brother to this torment?” mother asks from her seat.

“The procedure is described as _‘unpleasant’_. Nothing is said about torment,” Aerys retorts. Do they even read the texts that he shows them?

Baelor groans, “It will go into my nose. _‘Unpleasant’_ sounds too mild.”

“And you?” mother turns to him. “Do you really need to do this? Why not try hot garlic prawns again? My grandfather ate two each night before sleep, and it cured him completely. Nothing was poured into his nose.”

“They don’t work on me, mother.”

She shakes her head, “You both are so stubborn. Do you want me to hold your hand?”

“I am already thirty,” Baelor mutters, “and the Hand of the King.”

“It is ready!” Aerys announces with pride and picks up the vial and the tubes. “Soon your snoring will be gone.”

“Along with inside of his skull,” mother remarks.

“Please, just do it,” Baelor says. “Just one procedure to endure and that’s it.”

Do they ever read anything that he shows them?

“It’s not one procedure!” Aerys replies, indignant. “I’ve shown you maester Lyonid’s account, haven’t I? You have to do it each day for the rest of your life. Renat of Braavos’ writings say it is worth it.”


	43. “Well this is a surprise.” (Arlan and Dunk)

_Well this is a surprise_ , Arlan thought to himself. He didn’t expect to find one of the street rats curled up in the corner of the tiny sept. He remembered the child from the day before, chasing pigs and brawling with other equally filthy urchins in front of the inn, and winning out of sheer ferocity and size. _What would he grow into?_ Arlan mused. _Some terrifying brigand?_ This child, no more than six, had a knack for beating others into the dirt. Arlan remembered Roger at that age. Such a gentle boy, always hiding behind his mother’s skirts. _And how it ended for him?_ Arlan almost laughed out aloud. Mayhaps ferocity is better. He never dared to visit Lira and Pennytree again, not after he brought… the boy back.

_Couldn’t even succeed at making a knight out of that boy._ He needed a drink, never mind the rain. That’s why he was in King’s Landing anyway - drinking away his last money and wandering the city aimlessly. _Need to go back to the countryside, here’s not good for a knight of the hedges._ He had become just a stupid, lonely old man, but Rusty and Chestnut needed someone to take care of them. They were good horses, and Roger loved Rusty, always brushed his mane till it shone and gave him treats. Arlan could’ve sworn that Rusty wasn’t the same since the boy died.

“The horse felt it,” Arlan muttered aloud and laughed darkly.

The child in the corner jerked his head up, startled. There was a huge bruise on his face. 

_Grows up into a brigand and is send to the Wall or killed, slain by a knight. A child like him won’t have a chance to become something more… Unless someone takes him in. Miracles do happen,_ Arlan glanced at the crude painting of the Mother. Nothing like the fancy statues in big septs. He looked at the Warrior. _Hedge knights are truest of all knights._ Why did he come here? Just because of the rain? Or because he knew he couldn’t continue to live like that, drinking and wandering, alone and aimless? Did he come here because he needed guidance from the Seven? Damn Blackfyres. Damn the lord of the three castles.

“Think you’re good at fighting, ugh? A true knight can beat any brigand.”

The child stared at him with suspicion.

“And a knight, a hedge knight, may not eat meat every day, but when he serves a lord, he has good food and shelter. A hedge knight is the truest kind of knight.” 

_A surprise indeed._

“Do you want to become a knight one day?”


	44. “Am I dreaming?” (Ghost of High Heart, Glendon Ball, Sumerhall)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fire, mentioned/implied deaths, emotional distress

_Am I dreaming?_

They are screaming around her. Wailing. 

But her dreams are never like this, even the most terrifying ones. The ceiling is on fire. In front of her the farthest part of the Great Hall became a wall of green flames. Behind her are the screams of those who are trampled at the doors. Someone has broken one of the fancy windows. Her dreams are never like this… 

Everything is green. Green flames, not red. They are dying around her. _Never like this…_

What makes her move is the sight of Jenny, thrashing and fighting in Ser Flower’s arms as he carries her towards the broken window with a look of stupid determination on his face. This means they will escape. _They’ll die._ Is this how it goes for all the people whose fate she has seen in her dreams? All those visions, all the terror. All those people… is this their revenge? No, no, she must survive.

In the end she manages to climb out of the window. Stepping on someone, climbing over someone. They all are people. _But they’ve never seen me as one of them,_ she tells herself and discovers that her bitterness still gives her strength. 

She falls down, finally outside. She is coughing, her left leg is probably dislocated, but she needs to move, or they will trample her. She gulps for air and first crawls, then hobbles away from the castle and towards Ser Flowers and Jenny.

_Jenny!_

Her Jenny, wailing and hurting herself. When Briar tries to touch her, she is thrown aside. Legs hurt. Back hurts. But it is nothing. _It will pass._

“Where’s her Duncan?” she rasps, then coughs some more.

“Dead,” Ser Glendon replies. His voice is empty, and his stare is blank. His armour isn’t white anymore. “Burnt alive.”

“And the King? And your Lord Commander?” Briar tries to grasp Jenny’s legs, afraid that she would run right back into the fire.

“Dead too, most likely.” Ser Glendon smiles an ugly smile. He does nothing to help her restrain Jenny. “I’m a knight, but that doesn’t mean anything in the end, don’t you see?” he gestures at the Bright Castle. “These kings and high lords, and their games, and their dreams. That’s all that is important to them. They pretend to care, so you serve them and bleed for them and,” he nods at Jenny who is clawing at her neck, “fuck them. But in the end it only hurts the likes of us! I should’ve known better! Should’ve listened to my sister! Lord Commander, he ran back to save the King. But I? I am the whore’s son. I don’t care,” he laughs again.

Briar sits down beside Jenny, who wails some more and then stops, crouches down and starts coughing violently. But it will go away. They survived, so that will go away. Like a bad dream.


	45. “Make me.” (Serenei of Lys, Aegon IV, character drama, slight au)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unhealthy relationship  
> not in the same canon as my usual Shiera-related drabbles

The baby is kicking. Serenei takes off her earrings and puts her hands on her belly, smiling. It’s a girl, Serenei is sure about it, and the star charts agree. _She’s going to have my eyes._ What was the name the boy pointed out in the book? Saera? 

“Serenei, dear, what happened today?” the whiny voice interrupts her daydreaming. She doesn’t even turn. She is not afraid.

“Answer me! What happened?” 

He is still ill tempered, but now that he feels his death is near, he becomes more and more nosey and clingy. _Disgusting pig._ And his spies are still everywhere.

“Yes, darling?” she asks sweetly. “I was feeling our baby moving. I think it’s a girl. I was in the library today and read the charts…”

“You’ve been talking to one of Daeron’s little brats!” he interrupts her. “Which one was it? The second one? A weakling yet dares to act so haughty! As if he is smarter than everyone else! His mother’s influence for sure.”

Haughty? That’s what they say about Serenei. That’s what they all whisper behind her back, among many other, much worse things. Well, she is not a charmer or a gossip, and doesn’t care about the courtiers. The little prince didn’t care about her reputation, and neither did he seek her out because of it, he only wanted to see the book. “Did you have a library in Lys? Have you really been to Oldtown?” he pestered her. If she is honest, it was a respite from every other interaction she had in this savage land, at least since Lord Hightower’s visit.

Serenei strokes her belly. “Yes, I talked to prince Aerys today… so what?”

More huffing and spattering from the bed behind her. “Prince?! Spawn of the bastard and the Dornish witch! Are you betraying me? You too?!”

Bastard… _Poor Aegon, bastards everywhere,_ Serenei smiles to herself. _He has no idea._ Oh, Lord Hightower would love it.

“I am not betraying you,” she cuts him off, annoyed by his tone. She should be afraid, perhaps. The creature surely have executed his other women for treason before. Yet she is sure he is still in love with her, and, more importantly, he needs her, now that he is so ill. _Ill and dying._ She smiles and picks up her hairbrush. He will soon be dead, and then a connection to the little prince and through him to the new King would be useful.

“Come here, Serenei. Explain yourself! Come here!”

“Make me,” she replies. _Die, die, die, s_ he thinks. “If you think I’m a traitor.”

“Come here, you insolent… Come here and help me eat!”

Oh, so he is already changing his tune?

“Why? You accuse me of treason. You don’t love me. You don’t love our future child.”

Silence. Then he tries again. His voice is especially whiny now, so full of pity for himself. “Now, stop pouting, Serenei. I was only japing with you. I know you won’t care about that snivelling little brat. Come here, my love. Help me eat.”

“Of course, darling,” she finishes brushing her hair first before getting up.

_Shiera._ Yes, that’s the name that she and the boy found in the book. A powerful name. Shiera.


	46. “If they find out, I’ll kill myself and then you.” (Mariah Martell, snippet, court, character drama)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mariah's PoV/what happened before chapter 18

“If they find out, I’ll kill myself and then you,” the man proclaimed. Mariah stopped in her tracks, taken aback. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the loud voices had caught her attention.

The woman just laughed, “You don’t make any sense. Are you going to kill me as a ghost?”

So, it was only a jest? Mariah sighed in relief - for a moment she was afraid the man meant to do something drastic, and she would need to intervene. The man and the woman laughed and kissed, and later danced together during the feast.

“Don’t you worry,” Daeron said when she told him about the odd conversation. “Those two are Lord Horncastle and Lady Langton, they pretend their relationship is tumultuous. But they’ve been lovers for years, and everyone knows, including their spouses.”

Mariah was still unsettled, not because they were open about being lovers - that was scandalous, but certainly not unheard of, but because of the tone of the man’s voice. As ridiculous as his words were, they disturbed her. Or, perhaps, she was just tired and saw trouble everywhere.

Mariah even tried to approach the woman, but Lady Langton looked at her as if she was a leper from Flea Bottom and then glanced in the King’s direction anxiously, clearly scared to be seen with the princess. Mariah recoiled, offended and sickened. Good thing that they departed from King’s Landing the next day, almost fleeing back to Dragonstone. She wouldn’t be able to stand the court any longer. 

_Good intentions lead to… How does that Tyroshi saying go?_ she tried to remember. Yet she couldn’t forget the woman’s disgusted and scared expression and the man’s cruel tone. Was it just the way of King Aegon’s court, the court of opulence, barely hidden secrets and violence?

“Mother?” her eldest stood in the doorway with a very adult, very worried look on his face. Mariah smiled at him weakly. She wanted to be left alone and cry. Baelor was a very mature boy and very brave, and for a moment she considered sharing her troubles with him, but, no, she couldn’t burden her child with that. He already had to deal with so much hatred and distrust. Instead they just huddled together on a sofa, and Baelor told her about what happened at Dragonstone while she and Daeron were away, and soon he fell asleep. 

But Mariah still couldn’t stop thinking about the court and all those people. Was Lord Horncastle truly as disturbed as he seemed? Or she, a stranger, just misunderstood him? Everyone, even Daeron, japed about that pair, and that woman refused to even look Mariah in the eye. No, it should be the court, getting on her nerves. She stroked her son’s hair and cried, and soon felt better.


	47. “Why? Just… why?” (Egg, Dunk, very silly snippet, feat. Raymun and Betha)

Aegon looked down the steps at the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard and Ser Raymun Fossoway. Both were covered in mud and the Seven knew what else. Beside him Betha was trying hard to suppress her laughter, and Lady Fossoway looked mortified. Ser Oliver, newly anointed knight of the Kingsguard, just stared in confusion.

“What happened here?” Aegon demanded, descending the stairs into the yard.

Ser Duncan got back up on his feet and gestured dramatically at a red horse that stood in the corner of the yard, eyeing them all with suspicion.

“It’s the Warrior’s Might, Your Grace. Got a big scratch on his side but won’t allow the maester or the grooms to come near him. He’s a good horse but very sensitive.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t like me helping you,” Raymun Fossoway muttered, as he picked straw out of his hair.

“Or it’s because of the balm. It smells awful. Poor Might.”

“You named your horse Warrior’s Might?” Lady Fossoway asked. Betha whispered something into her ear, and they both giggled.

“It’s a good name, just unusual,” Dunk muttered. Then he gestured at the horse again. “And we still have to treat his scratch. Would you assist us, Your Grace? If not, step aside. It’s time for the second tilt.”

Lady Fossoway began to laugh uncontrollably.

“Why? Just… why?” Aegon cried out to no one.


	48. “Stop it.” (Maekar and unnecessary angst)

“Stop it!” Dyanna giggled as Daeron flailed in her arms, splashing water everywhere. “What are you doing?!”

Daeron gurgled something incomprehensible that caused Dyanna and her maid to exchange proud glances.

“You are an admiral? And this is your war galleys? And where is your ducky? Do you remember the song?”

Maekar watched his wife and son with a cheerless smile. He wished to join them and their daily ritual, but his mood has been foul the whole day, and he didn’t want to spoil his wife’s evening with his gloom. After having to deal with the Blackfyre, Aegor Rivers and Bloodraven all in one day, he felt like his head was about to burst from anger and frustration. Furthermore, father had sided with Bloodraven and listened to his advice over Maekar’s. Oh, Maekar felt like gritting his teeth or punching something. Now he wouldn’t be able to sleep with everything going on and on in his head. He needed to find something, anything, to do to clear his thoughts.

The maid had slipped out of the room, to gossip or flirt with some servant, no doubt, but Dyanna loved being alone with their son. She was singing a soothing song, and Daeron even tried to sing along. No, he would rather not foul their quite evening with his moods. Last time Dyanna told him he scared Daeron. 

_Stop it, you are overthinking again_ , Maekar told himself, and in his head it sounded suspiciously like something Baelor would say. Maekar didn’t like it. Baelor never had dark moods.

“Don’t you want to help us?” Dyanna asked after she finished the song, and Maekar turned to leave. “Daeron, look, your father just returned and already wants to abandon us,” she pouted. Daeron continued playing with his toy duck and some brightly coloured wooden blocks that were supposed to be his war galleys.

“I am going to the yard to train.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I just need fresh air and exercise.”

“Oh,” she frowned, and Daeron mimicked her expression. Maekar left them, feeling miserable but sure that it was the right decision. Or so he told himself.


	49. “We’re just friends.” (Dunk, Raymun, Glendon, modern AU, sitcom)

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Glendon demanded. He crossed his arms and lifted up his chin in a mildly threatening manner.

“I need a break. I promised to help Raymun pick up a present for his mom,” Dunk explained in a placid tone. The closer the tournament got, the pricklier Glendon became, despite his vigorous assurances that he could win just by himself. It was better not to anger him.

“We’ll go to the nearby mall and be back in an hour,” Raymun chimed in, but Glendon blocked the exit.

“So the rest of us are working hard while our captain is sneaking out to the mall with his boyfriend?”

Dunk gave him an unamused look. Seriously, a boyfriend joke? What were they? Twelve?

“The rest of the team is too terrified of you, Glendon, to take a much needed break. Anyway, I’m the captain. How about we all take an hour off and rest,” he proclaimed loudly and got approving shouts in return. “Also, Raymun isn’t my boyfriend,” he added, just in case. “We’re just friends.”

Glendon was taken aback. He muttered something about being stuck with the laziest team ever but stepped aside.

“You need a break too, by the way,” Dunk told him.

“I’m not tired at all!” 

“Everybody takes an hour off. Or I call your sister.” That seemed to work, and Glendon sulked away.

“Why’s he such a pain sometimes?” Dunk lamented on their way to the mall. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good guy, just obsessed with competition and proving himself. At least he’s over the Blackfyre thing now.” 

“Are you alright?” he asked, unnerved by Raymun’s silence. He expected to hear the latest town gossip or something, but Raymun looked almost as sulky as Glendon.

“I guess,” Raymun replied dryly. “Let’s hurry and be done with it.”

Well, that was strange.


	50. “Did you just flick me?” (Dunk, Raymun, modern AU, as children)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope that “flick somebody” does mean “show a middle finger” because that’s what i thought while writing this, but now i’m not sure

“Did you just flick me?” Bennis rose from his chair and made a step forward, dumb astonishment on his face. Dunk didn’t mean it… well, he didn’t think Bennis would turn his head and see him. For a brief moment their eyes met, and they stared at each other.

_He’ll tell the old man! He’ll tell lies!_ Dunk realized with horror. 

“Come here, you little shit!” Bennis bellowed, and Dunk bolted away. He didn’t expect the man to follow, but Bennis did, and he was terribly fast for someone so lazy.

Dunk knew he had to lose his pursuer. He dived into a gap in someone’s fence and then slipped through another fence into someone’s small yard where he found himself face-to-face with a younger boy who was sitting on the ground with a basket full of apples clutched to his chest.

“Where’re you?! I’ll beat you good, you miserable rat… ” Bennis’s voice roared from behind the fence, and Dunk cringed. 

A hand touched his sleeve gently. Dunk looked up. It was the boy. He put his finger to his lips and nodded at the thick bushes that grew on the other side of the yard.

_Hide there?_ Dunk didn’t want to be beaten, so he hid in the bushes. He heard Bennis stomp around, muttering curses under his breath. Dunk hoped Arlan would take his side. Oh, why didn’t he tell him about Bennis before?

“I think the angry man is gone,” the boy whispered after several minutes had passed.

“Th-thank you.” Dunk wiggled out of the bushes.

“You’re welcome! I’m Raymun. We just moved here,” the boy said as if nothing strange had happened.

“Duncan,” Dunk introduced himself politely. “I live down the road.”

“Nice to meet you!” Raymun blabbered on happily. “Do you want apples? My granny has brought them. I don’t know anyone around here yet. Except for my cousin, but he’s an… he’s sort of mean.” Raymun made a face. “It’s so cool to meet you! I thought it was just me and my playstation till the school starts.”

Playstation? Dunk looked up. The old man had promised to try and save up to buy Dunk one, but then the neighbors from above flooded their flat, and they had no money to spare… again.

“We’ve been living here for over a year,” Dunk told Raymun just to say something, “and there aren’t many children in this neighborhood. Not like when we lived in the North. We move a lot," he explained.

“That’s so cool! Do you want to come inside and play?” 

Raymun looked genuinely interested in him, and Dunk was instantly aware of his own second-hand clothes, dirty after hiding in the bushes. He could hear adult voices from the window Raymun was pointing at. Well-to-do adults didn’t like Dunk. _But the playstation._

“Nah, I have to go, or Bennis will find the old man and tell lies about me. Bennis lives in that house with the brown roof. You should stay away from him. He’s very nasty. But thanks for the invitation.”

Raymun’s face fell. “Ah, alright… Maybe… maybe we can play tomorrow? You can show me around?”

“Tomorrow? Yeah, I can,” Dunk said. He would dress better tomorrow. _If the old man doesn’t ground me because of Bennis’s lies_. 

“Of course you can!” Raymun laughed. “How can you refuse me again!” 


	51. “Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now?” (Maekar/Dyanna, post Blackfyre Rebellion)

“Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now?” Dyanna whispered in his ear. 

Maekar offered her a tired half-smile. They were stuck here, among the guests, in the hall where the greeting feast was held.

“Just one course more, I think it would be honeycakes, then we can excuse ourselves on account of my injury,” he whispered back. In truth his wound had already healed and didn’t bother him anymore. He just couldn’t stand the chatter and laughter around them, not when he barely had time to greet his wife after the whole terrible year of separation and worry. At the moment he didn’t even care about kissing or other matters, he just wanted to hold her, and for her to hold him, then he would tell her about the battles and the grass that was red.

“Does it hurt?” Dyanna asked, worried. Maekar noticed that she looked gaunt, exhausted.

“What?”

“Your wound? You’ve just said...”

“No,” he made a face, “it is healed. But we need an excuse to get away from here. If I have to listen to yet another version of _The Hammer and the Anvil_...”

“So, you’re going to lie?” she teased him with a flash of her old, carefree smile. “I am truly a wicked influence on the proper prince.”

“The best influence of my life,” he blurted out and kissed her hand to hide his embarrassment.


	52. “I got you a present.” (Humfrey Hardyng, canon ending, dark)

The day is bright and warm, no sign of heavy rains predicted by the maesters, and Humfrey can’t wait to depart for the tourney. The thrill of competition, the shouts of the crowd, the victories - he misses it all. His squire, Karyl, winks at the Pryor girl, who waves back shyly. Nearby septon Rober and maester Gerard are arguing with each other.

“Wait!” a familiar voice cries out. Humfrey smiles fondly as his knights tease him. Hanna, in her best, orange, dress, runs up to him, and Harry follows behind his mother. Hanna has two bundles in her hands. 

“I got you a present,” she offers him one of the bundles. It is their tradition.

“Oh. And what can it be?”

“Open it,” Hanna smiles brightly, and a dimple appears in one of her cheeks.

It’s a scarf. So that’s what she was working on so hard these last few weeks? It is perhaps too warm to wear it right now, as he is already sweaty.

“Thank you, Honey. It is beautiful.” He would need to find something equally beautiful to bring back from the tourney, for it’s also a part of the tradition.

“Beautiful and warm! The nights are chilly. And give this to my brother, if you meet him,” she gives him the second bundle. “And tell him to wear it after the jousts, he always catches cold at the tourneys. Remember to tell him!”

“Of course, of course.” They kiss, and the small crowd around them cheers. Yes, Humfrey can’t wait to depart for the tourney, but coming back home with presents for Hanna and their son - that is the best part of their tradition. Only this time…

“Now, Harry, say goodbye to your father…”

Strange, how he can’t distinguish his son’s face…

* * *

He comes around, gasping for air, and he’s so horribly hot and sweaty, and his leg hurts, and Karyl is crying in the corner. His leg… damn… he thinks he killed Honey’s brother…

“The present… Hanna’s present…” he doesn’t need to make a proper sentence. Karyl, his squire, knows about their tradition. He jumps up and rummages through the trunks, and it takes ages… Humfrey doesn’t have time, and it’s very hard to breath… funny, because it’s his leg that is injured… but he gets his scarf in the end. It is really, really beautiful, with Hardyng diamonds, and flowers and bees on it… he lies with his cheek on the scarf and follows the patterns with his finger, until he is too tired, and Karyl’s crying gets louder.


	53. “Sit in my lap.” (Shiera and Adelaide (OC), Third Blackfyre Rebellion)

“Stop pacing around, I’m getting dizzy,” Adelaide complained but immediately relented. “Sit in my lap. I’ll help to untangle your hair, it looks weird.”

_How can she be so calm?_ Shiera wondered. She herself was terribly angry and desperate for any news. 

Adelaide gently stroked her hair. “See, it got tangled around your hair pin,” she whispered. Shiera just couldn’t understand this odd calmness.

They stayed silent for some time. They had done a lot of waiting together, Shiera and Adelaide. The Spring Sickness. The First Rebellion. They were comfortable with silence. 

“It’s too early to receive any news,” Adelaide said at last.

“I hate being left in the dark. _Again._ ” 

Adelaide didn’t reply, just hugged her shoulders.

“Aegor will never stop,” Shiera muttered after another long pause.

“He is far away,” Adelaide assured her in her _‘I am very reasonable’_ voice, but Shiera could feel her hands slightly shaking. “Even if the worst happens, we have time to escape.”

Shiera didn’t want to escape. King’s Landing was her only home, the Red Keep her safe place.

“I just wish Aegor would be gone for good.” She had never admitted how much that man scared her. She was five-and-ten when he started his advances, and she could never forget those burning, angry eyes. Adelaide was the only one who ever understood. 

“I wish he would too… My father is not too old to fight, what do you think?” Adelaide asked suddenly, and her voice was wavering now. Shiera had forgotten about Lord Wyl, fighting despite his age. 

“Men older than him lead troupes.” 

“He’s so stubborn,” Adelaide sighed. “Before I’d never have imagined him defeated, but the older I get, the more afraid I am of everything,” she laughed darkly. “The first time the fighting seemed so distant, so unreal… until I went back home and saw the burnt villages. And this time it will only be more brutal…” 

Shiera was spared from the ghastly sights. She realized that she was sheltered from the worst of it. _And Adelaide’s mother’s sept is in the Red Mountains,_ she remembered. She climbed down from Adelaide’s lap to hug her friend.

“Is it possible that the Blackfyres will be defeated this time?” Adelaide wondered in that new wavering voice that Shiera didn’t like. 

Now who was unreasonable?

“Of course, don’t be silly.” Oh, she hoped so.


	54. “I think I forgot how to breathe.” (Brynden, first accidental skinchanging)

_Flying._ The sky is so blue. Below is a tree with thousands of his siblings.

“Brynden?” a human voice says, so far away. 

“Brynden!”

He is… he is in his chair, his book in front of him. Shiera and Aerys stare at him with worried eyes.

“I…”

“You fell asleep and then nearly fell off the chair!”

“No. Have you not seen his eyes? He had a fit!”

_No, I was free._

“That was nothing. Shiera’s right. I nearly fell asleep. This book is so boring.”

“Oh. Of course I’m right. I am always right,” Shiera teases them, but there is still alarm in her eyes. “But are you sure you don’t want to tell maester Yormwell?”

_Maester?_ He is in the ravenry, he is looking down at…

“Brynden!”

That flash again… that vision…

“I… I think I forgot how to breathe,” he mumbles, then remembers himself, “for a moment.” He laughs it off, but they still stare at him. Are they truly worried? Or are they afraid of him? Do they know?

“We all have our gifts and our secrets,” his mother told him once. And this? This will be his secret.


	55. “Woah.” (baby Daemon II and Valarr)

Mama told Daemon to behave and then left him with Gerde, who wasn’t paying him or his questions any attention. Instead she was talking to the Red Castle’s servants. Gossiping. Mama told Daemon many times that gossiping was bad, but he wouldn’t tell on Gerde, because he was chivalrous like father. But he was also very bored. Daemon looked around, trying not to fidget. He wanted to explore the great castle and see the dragon skulls, but he had to wait on the terrace with the old ladies, while mama talked with the queen. The tea and biscuits were tasty, but he was _so_ bored.

“May I go down to the garden?” he asked an elderly Dornish woman, queen’s septa, who sat opposite of him. 

She glanced at Gerde, then looked at him. “Yes, but, please stay in sight. The garden is quite big, and it’s easy to get lost.”

“Thank you,” Daemon bowed very courteously, and, receiving a smile, trotted down the steps and into the garden. It was Sothoryos, he decided, and he was an explorer and the sole survivor of a shipwreck! He went around a fountain - it was a princess, turned into stone by the Dread Toad, and barely escaped a pair of pigeon-wyverns, then stopped, already bored with the game. He liked to dream and play alone, but only when he was back at home, with his toys and books. He wished Calla was with him, she always had fun stories to tell. _Will mama be back soon?_ he wondered, kicking some stone from his way. He started feeling miserable and lonely, like he was abandoned…

That’s when he heard suspicious rustling in the bushes just ahead of him. _Strange._ Daemon glanced over his shoulder at the septa, but she seemed to be paying all her attention to Gerde and Gerde’s new friends. The rustling continued… _It’s just a cat or a bird,_ Daemon thought to himself. _A real explorer would investigate it._ He was brave. He wasn’t afraid. He squeezed in between two bushes and found himself in a sort of a green tunnel, surrounded by branches from two sides. This was exciting! He followed the tunnel and the rustling sound until he found a clearing and… _Woah!_

In the clearing there was a boy, very well dressed, but with the most unusual look. His skin was olive, like the queen’s, but his eyes were blue, and a silver thread run through his brown hair. Daemon has never seen anyone like him before, not even among mama’s Tyroshi friends with their brightly dyed hair. 

Daemon stared at the boy, and the boy glared at him. He had a plate of cookies on the grass beside him and a box with the most marvelous toy soldiers. _But that hair…_ Daemon wondered whether that lighter streak would feel different to the touch than the rest of it. If he was younger, he would have just marched up to the boy and tugged on it to find out, but now he was seven and knew his manners. He should be ‘diplomatic’.

The boy covered the cookies protectively with one hand. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“My name is Daemon. Pleasure to meet you,” Daemon said in his most polite voice, the one that made mama smile proudly and the ladies coo and aww. His brothers would always snicker at him, though, but they were 'uncultured'. 

The boy looked pleased with his words. “And what are you doing here?” he asked in a more welcoming tone.

“I came here with my mother, she is talking with the… with an important lady,” Daemon explained, remembering that mama ordered him not to tell about the queen, “and I asked that old septa, and she allowed me to explore the garden. Then I followed the green tunnel and found you. And what is your name?”

The boy blinked at him, as if surprised. “I’m prince Valarr,” he said it as if Daemon should’ve known his name.

“Are you a prince of the Forest Folk?” Daemon blurted out. And he thought the Forest Folk, the most beautiful people of his mother’s tales, lived only around Tyrosh! Then he realized that he had heard the boy’s name before. He felt his ears burning.

“I am prince Valarr Targaryen!” the boy looked offended.

“I am very sorry,” Daemon apologized, thinking fast. “I know! We can play, and you’ll be a prince of the Forest Folk! Or I. I can be a prince of the Forest Folk, and you can be an ordinary prince, if you want! Our kingdoms will be at war!”

The boy thought about Daemon’s very splendid idea. “I’ll be this forest prince, and you can be in my Kingsguard,” he allowed. “You will have a white cloak.”

“No, it will be a green cloak! Because it’s the Forest Folk’s kingdom!” Daemon wanted to be a prince too, but the Kingsguard were the most awesome people, and he needed to get into the prince’s good graces to ask about his hair. 

Valarr nodded sagely, “You shall be my Lord Commander, and if you prove yourself, you might become my Hand.”

“Is this your army?” Daemon gestured at the toy soldiers.

“Yes, a present from one of my uncles. Aren’t they just perfect?” 

They were indeed, and Daemon had fun playing with them, even though Valarr didn’t have a lot of imagination. But his eyes were very blue, and Daemon was even allowed to have some cookies, after swearing not to tell anyone that Valarr had taken them from the kitchen. And he saved the Forest Folk’s prince from an evil harpy-dragon too! 

Then the queen’s septa found them and gave Valarr a very disapproving glare that made the prince look much less royal. She took Daemon away and led him back to mama, who looked very tired. Daemon really regretted that he forgot to ask about Valarr’s hairstreak.


	56. “What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since I was eleven?” (Shiera and Adelaide (OC), tiny drabble)

“What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since I was eleven?”

Adelaide stares at her in confusion, “That’s not true.”

Shiera smirks, “But if it was true, how would you react?”

Adelaide thinks about it for a moment, “You are my best friend, and I am married. That’s simply too weird.”

“I see,” Shiera nods to herself.

Realization shows on Adelaide’s face, “Is this brought up by Lady Celtigar and her new husband?”

Those two and their public confession that lead to marriage were the hottest gossip in the Red Keep.

Shiera nods again, “They are strange.”

“Love is strange,” Adelaide snorts and returns to her book.

So they say. Shiera wouldn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> playing with different types of relationships for Shiera&Adelaide, but they would still probably get together - just much later in life.


	57. “You don’t understand, you never do!” (Dunk at court, angsty character drama)

They gave him new clothes to wear. When Dunk stared at the reflection in the mirror - he never even had a mirror before - all he could think was how ridiculous he looked. A shabby, uncomfortable young man in borrowed clothes. He felt ashamed - what if the servants and soldiers thought that he was trying to be like one of the nobles? 

_What do they think of me? An upjumped sellsword? An amusement for the prince and the court?_

Egg treated him right, of course. Almost like before... but it wasn’t like before. Dunk knew he could be taught to read and write, he could raise through the ranks, but he would never be fully accepted by the highborn. 

_They all think you’re pathetic,_ he imaginedBennis of the Brown Shield sneering at him. 

That wasn’t fair, but at times Dunk wanted to shout in frustration at Egg and his friends, at the servants, “You don’t understand, you never do!” 

But he was a man grown now, with responsibilities and a reputation to uphold. A knight in truth. He couldn’t give cause for rumours and whispers with his uncouth behavior.

Still, even when he told himself that he could do more good here, at court, he longed for the old times, for the road and freedom. But that life was gone. Perhaps it was for the better. Perhaps it was not.


	58. “You look cute with a baby bump!” (Kiera of Tyrosh, tiny drabble)

“You look adorable with a baby bump!” the woman, one of the distant relatives of her husband, exclaims.

_Baby… bump?_ It takes Kiera a few moments to comprehend, and then she can only stare at the woman in horror, while others in the room laugh and coo. _Cooing._.. Even ‘cooing’ is better. Kiera puts a hand on her stomach protectively. Bump. On the road. _No._

She excuses herself and wanders out into the corridor. She needs to find someone. To share.

Lady Jena is in her solar, reading. “Are you unwell?” she asks, giving Kiera a worried look. “You look shaken.”

Kiera sits down.

“What? What happened? Is something wrong with the baby?”

_Baby bump._

Kiera shudders and hides her face against her good-mother’s shoulder. “Lady mother, I’ve just heard the most disgusting phrase in the Common Tongue… or any tongue… ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does this count as self-insert?


	59. “It’s all your fault!” (Daeron and Maekar, drama, post Spring Sickness)

“Why are you blaming Lord Rivers, father? And you won’t even confront him... Are you afraid?”

His father’s eyes grew wide. He surely didn’t expect his useless eldest son to contradict him. Oh, Daeron never would have dared before, too terrified of his father, too ashamed of his own vices. But now, while he was still afraid, something had changed. He couldn’t tell whether the news of the Spring Sickness and all the loss had changed him, or, more likely, his father was so miserable, so pitiful at the moment, that for the first time Daeron saw a man he could talk back to. The image of his strict, unapproving, unapproachable father had crumbled, and Daeron felt pity and something akin to triumph. 

_I’m evil, so evil, mother would’ve been ashamed._

He could hurt his father back now. If he wanted, he could have shouted, “It’s all your fault! Not Bloodraven’s, yours! The gods are punishing us for _your_ sin!” 

He wouldn’t do it, of course. He wasn’t _that_ wicked.

“Out,” Maekar commanded, but his voice wasn’t as fierce as it used to be. “I had enough of your insolence.”

Daeron considered apologizing, maybe even consoling his father to amend his wicked thoughts, but Maekar had already slammed the door to his solar shut.


	60. “Well that’s just great.” (Kyle, Maynard, Glendon’s sister and Glendon, crack)

_Well... this won’t end well,_ Kyle thought. He was balancing on the top of a rather narrow stone wall that surrounded the merchant’s manor. 

“We have to jump!” the girl, Glendon’s sister, insisted.

Kyle gave the ground a dubious look. He wasn’t some young, spirited knight who could do such deeds with ease. Ah, all he wanted was to find a place to serve, with good food and wine. Now he was in this... predicament. He hoped the guards hadn’t discovered the girl’s disappearance yet.

“Now, my girl, do not be afraid...” he started to say, but she had already jumped down.

“It’s not too high!” she shouted from below. 

He had to follow. A hedge knight couldn’t be shamed by a girl of nine-and-ten. It hurt a lot, though, when he landed on the ground. _Ouch._

“Are you hurt?” the girl struggled to help him to his feet. “Where do we go now? Where is Glendon?”

“Your brother awaits with the horses farther away,” Ser Maynard announced, finally making his appearance from among the trees.

_It’s all his fault,_ Kyle thought bitterly. After Kyle agreed to escort young Glendon back to the Pussywillows, Ser Maynard caught up with them on the road and declared that he would join them. And when they reached the _‘inn’_ , it turned out that Glendon’s sister was taken at sword point by some rich local merchant who wanted a hostage against some other rich merchant who happened to be the girl’s patron, and they would need to rescue her. And, because Glendon was still injured, and Maynard was, well, Maynard, _‘they’_ meant Kyle. 

_I just wanted to find a generous lord to serve, not to save 'maidens’ from quarrelling merchants,_ he lamented to himself. 

Glenda was eyeing Maynard with suspicion. “And who are you?” she demanded. Then she turned on Kyle, “You didn’t tell me you have company!”

“I am a friend of your brother,” Maynard proclaimed. “Now, we have to hurry before they discover that you escaped.”

“Would this make trouble for the girls back home?” Glenda asked, suddenly fidgety.

“Don’t you worry, I know someone who will handle it,” Maynard smiled self-importantly. “I have connections. The merchant will be punished and your _‘Pussywillows’_ will be safe. But first we need to get out of here.”

_Oh?_ _Connections?_ Kyle felt most dubious about it. It didn’t look like Glenda believed him either, and her scowl rivalled her brother’s, but they followed him into the woods anyway.

“I think I’ve just injured my foot,” Kyle was trying to keep up with Maynard’s pace. “Was there no other way to rescue the girl?” he moaned.

“Perhaps there was, but I was curious to see whether the Cat really lands on his feet,” Maynard replied, as unfeeling as ever.

“You! Oh, you are so heartless, Ser Maynard! Laughing at my injury. And I am not so young anymore!”

“The scene was rather comedic, that is true. But you endured well,” Maynard noted with an insufferably smug grin. But even he didn’t know what awaited them ahead. 

The terrain in those parts of the Reach was treacherous, and with Glenda anxious to see her brother, and the two knights bickering, they all failed to notice when they reached a slope. One moment Kyle was walking (or limping) beside Ser Maynard, next moment all three of them were tumbling down the hill. _Perhaps_ if Kyle didn’t grab onto Maynard, and the girl didn’t try to stop them from falling... but there was no reason to dwell on what could have happened.

Thankfully it wasn’t too high or too steep, and no one, not even Kyle, on whom Glenda had landed, was injured. Only Maynard’s moonstone brooch had cracked, Kyle noticed. Probably from connecting with Kyle's elbow during the fall. That was a shame. Kyle hoped he wouldn’t need to pay for it. On the brighter side, now Maynard himself looked less than dignified, sitting in the dirt beside him like a giant angry bird. And he hadn’t notice that his brooch was damaged yet.

“Gilly!”

“Glendon!”

“I told you to stay with the horses,” Maynard grumbled.

Glenda... no, Gilly sprang to her feet and rushed towards her brother. Glendon rushed towards Gilly. Kyle just wished there was a singer present to make a song out of the most touching sibling reunion.

“Just look at them! Brings tears to your eyes, don’t you agree?” he whispered to Maynard who huffed in response. “Do you even feel anything?”

“I feel my behind going numb from sitting on the ground,” Maynard muttered. He was clearly disgruntled by the indignity that had befallen him.

Kyle snickered at his displeasure.

“Oh, so I am not the only one who can’t land on his feet?” He stood up and dusted off his clothes before graciously helping Maynard to his feet.

Glendon turned towards them, a rare smile on his bruised face. At the same moment Maynard sharply turned to the boy, clearly to scold him for leaving the horses, and with an audible crack something fell to the ground. Kyle squinted down - part of Maynard’s brooch fell off. A pity, really... 

“Gilly, this is Ser Kyle of Misty Moor, and this is Ser Maynard Plu...” 

Gilly shrieked. Kyle looked up - she was hiding behind her brother. Glendon’s eyes were bulging from their orbits.

“What’s with you two?” Maynard inquired. His voice sounded odd.

Kyle turned to him, and Maynard’s features were... melting, changing...

“What is wrong with all of you?” Maynard... no, not Maynard... Bloodraven looked at them, confused.

_Well, that’s just great,_ Kyle thought before fainting.


	61.  “Are you even listening?” (Tanselle in Braavos p1, Tanselle makes new friends)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continues from chapter 41

The evening was chilly, and Tanselle hurried back to the inn, muffled up in her new shawl. She already loved Braavos, its canals and temples, even its strange, cold weather. True, it wasn’t Dorne, it wasn’t home, but she felt more at ease here, surrounded by people from all around the known world, than in the Reach or Stormlands. Yet now, as the unfamiliar streets emptied, and she turned another corner and found herself in another narrow, dim alley, she felt a pang of fear. The city was still strange to her, and it was said that at night it was dangerous. _No need to panic, I just have to find that bridge with the statue of the green-haired lady,_ she told herself. She stopped and looked around, puzzled and upset. She couldn’t see the canal from here. And she thought she had memorized the road! She was so careful! _Should’ve followed the main canal, should’ve hired a boat,_ Tanselle bit her lip in frustration. Now she wasn’t even sure how to return to the canal, and surrounded by the tall houses, she couldn’t see the huge aqueduct. She was foolish, going out alone. 

_I should’ve taken aunt Tessa with me._ But she wanted to see the courtesans, gliding on their barges on the big canal, and she couldn’t just bring her aunt to watch _that_. The courtesans scandalized and fascinated Tanselle in equal measure, but aunt Tessa had a simpler opinion. _I could’ve said it was for a play, uncle can write a new play, about a courtesan, and I can paint her boat and sew her a dress._ It didn’t matter now. She should have been even more careful after Ashford. 

Tanselle quickened her pace, but after turning yet another corner she found herself in a small, unfamiliar plaza, surrounded by tall buildings from three sides and with a fountain in the middle. A dead end. Tanselle cursed her own recklessness and bad luck.

“Hey!” a figure stepped out from the shadow of one of the houses. A young man, dressed in truly garish clothes. A bravo.

Tanselle recoiled but didn’t dare to run. The bravo spoke to her in rapid Braavosi that she couldn’t understand. After a moment, he seemed to realize it.

“Myr?” he asked.

“Dorne,” she answered without thinking. “Westeros.”

“Oh! I know it!” he clapped his hands in delight and continued in rather good Common Tongue. “My esteemed mother’s second husband is from the Oldtown. Served two years on his ship.” His face lit up for a brief moment but then grew grim. “Do not be afraid, good lady! Thoma is here to protect you from the foul beast! Leave and do not return, for the creature made its nest here!”

_Creature? Beast?_ This surely wasn’t what she expected to hear from a bravo. Could this be some kind of trick?

“A beast?” she asked. Perhaps he mixed up the words.

“Four-winged creature of the night! I shall slay it!” he proclaimed and, whipping out his dagger, shook it in the air. The gesture was more comical than threatening, but Tanselle knew better than to laugh. The bravo’s face looked very young and was covered in pimples and scabs.

_He can’t be older than I,_ she realized. The bright prince was barely older than her, and still he had hurt her. It was time to go, while she could.

“I’ll go then,” she said. She didn’t dare to ask for directions. She feared what the man could do if he realized she was lost.

The bravo looked both disappointed and relieved at the same time. He bowed to her, as if she was a true lady. “Farewell, my lady, may... Look out!” he cried out and pointed frantically at the nearest house.

Tanselle turned and saw it then, a four-winged shadow, gliding from the roof of the house to the statue on the top of the fountain. Tanselle gasped in surprise. She had never seen a creature like this, never thought something like this even existed. But then she was never interested in real animals, preferring the creations of the human mind. Yet this looked like something that could have been found in a legend or a child’s tale.

Against the bravo’s protests Tanselle made a few steps towards the fountain to get a better look at the 'beast'. It was small and covered in glossy black feathers, and she could have taken it for a raven, if not for its snout - long and almost dragon-like, and its long, stiff tail that ended in a fan of longer feathers. Its hind legs were feathered just like its front wings. It was wonderful - so real yet so unlike any other creature Tanselle had ever seen. It turned and looked down at her, and hissed, showing its small white teeth. Tanselle stared back at it, mesmerized. Its eyes were amber-yellow and intelligent.

Thoma cursed in Braavosi under his breath. Tanselle had forgotten about him.

“What kind of animal is this?” she murmured, still awestruck.

“Are you even listening?” the bravo demanded. “It’s a foul beast that thieves good folk’s food!”

_I can make a puppet in its likeness. It would look so good if I add some silver, so it would shine with movement._

“Where did it come from?”

“No one knows, my lady. An Ibbenese ship sank one week before, then it appeared. Some say it was the captain’s pet... others claim it’s a spirit of the dead, but that’s a silly tale. The Sealord’s men told us he has its bigger brethren in his gardens. They came to look at this one, but they didn’t want this little pest,” Thoma proclaimed with a snide glance at the creature. Then he remembered his role of a brave hero, “It is still dangerous! It bit old Zverro and scared his poor dog, now it’s afraid to leave the house. The dog, I mean.”

Tanselle snorted at the story, and the beast hissed at them again from the top of the fountain. Tanselle thought she could see something pink, like a collar or a ribbon, around its neck, mostly hidden by the black feathers.

“Now, my lady, you should listen to me!” Thoma begged. “You should leave! The beast bites, and it has sharp claws... Of course, I will protect you if it attacks.”

_There was a knight who protected me from a real beast, not from a sorry little creature like this._

“Still it’s better you leave now!” the bravo insisted. “Perhaps I will give you its feathers as a souvenir, once I deal with it.”

“Do you intend to kill it?” Tanselle was suddenly concerned. She started to feel sad for the lonely little critter.

“What else can I do? Tame it?”

“Why not? Has anyone tried?”

Thoma scratched his chin, “Well, if it was once a pet... I can try to court it with fish or meat. Do you have some?”

“No,” Tanselle wasn’t amused. Did he think she would be hiding it? “How would I carry it?”

He only shrugged, but then his face lit up, “I know! I can ask Otta from the store!” And with that he bolted towards one of the houses. “Guard the beast for me, my lady! But don’t go near it! It can attack!” he cried out from the doorstep and started banging on the door.

Tanselle rolled her eyes. _What a fool!_ Once Thoma disappeared into the house, she turned back to the creature.

“Hey?” She called out to the four-winged raven. If it used to be someone’s pet, perhaps it knew human speech. It cocked its head to one side. She greeted it in Braavosi, bastard Valyrian and the trade talk she picked up from the sailors. The creature looked at her as if she was the strange one. Tanselle stretched her arm out, palm up. It instantly became agitated, extending its neck and sniffing the air, but lost interest once it realized she had nothing tasty to offer. For a moment Tanselle was afraid it would fly away, but it stayed on its perch. _Perhaps it likes me?_

“I’m sorry I teased you,” she said. “Thoma will bring you something to eat.”

She hoped it understood. The creature didn’t behave like a foul beast at all. When Tanselle was very little she made a friend with a weird fox, but otherwise she never had or wanted pets. She had to help with the horses, of course, but that was different. Her uncle loved the horses, talked to them... 

_Uncle and aunt would be so worried by now!_ she realized. It was so late! She swore to herself that she would never upset them again - and here she was! But she couldn’t just leave now.

“My lady!” The bravo had emerged from the house and sprinted back to her. He carried a plate full of chopped pieces of meat and stinking fish heads. “Look! Do you think it would like these?”

“Let's see.” She carefully put a small piece of meat on the fountain’s rim. The creature eyed it, bobbing its head up and down.

“Let us step back a bit,” Tanselle whispered to Thoma. Once they were farther away, the creature climbed down the statue, using claws on its wings, and jumped onto the basin’s rim. After a tentative peck at the meat, it made a chirping sound and devoured it hungrily.

“Do you want more?” Tanselle put another piece of meat on the ground near the fountain, but it just looked at it and made displeased sounds for a long time.

“Do you think it won’t be able to fly up from the ground?” Thoma whispered. “I’ve never seen it fly properly, only...” he gestured with one hand, indicating gliding, “and climb.”

“Yes, if it is difficult for it to climb back to the fountain... that’s why it would be so cautious!” Wincing, Tanselle picked up the meat from the ground and stepped closer, extending her arm. The beast hissed at her and puffed itself up like a fat pigeon, making her and Thoma laugh, but it didn’t try to attack or escape. Tanselle put the meat on the fountain’s rim like before, and the creature ate it eagerly. 

Then, after two more chunks of meat were eaten, and Tanselle stood still and silent for a while, with her arm extended, it stretched its neck and took the food from her hand, making a funny weird sound, almost a purr. Thoma started to hoot in victory but grew silent under Tanselle’s gaze.

She fed the creature almost all of the remaining meat (it refused the fish heads), and then suddenly it was climbing her sleeve, claws lightly prickling her through the clothes.

“Hey?” Tanselle felt slightly alarmed, yet enormously pleased with herself. She fed the creature the biggest piece of meat as a reward.

“Oh, youare great with it!” Thoma exclaimed.

“Or it indeed used to be someone’s pet, and it remembers that humans give it food. It should’ve been so lonely...” The creature purred from her shoulder and tried to peck at the ribbon in her hair. Tanselle gingerly raised her hand and gently stroked its head. It crooned in response.

“What are you going to do with it?” Thoma asked. He offered his hand to the creature, and, after a sniff, it hissed at him.

“I’m going to take it with me, I think. I can’t abandon it now. It’s not big. My aunt and uncle won’t mind it.”

“Thank you.” Even in the dusk she could tell that he was blushing. “I wasn’t too keen on killing it, truth be told. Though now I can’t get the fame for slaying the beast who pestered the neighborhood.”

“You can tell them you chased it away.”

“And they would just believe it? Besides, I’m a bravo, not a liar! It’s your victory, my lady!”

“My name is Tanselle.”

“What a beautiful name, lady Tanselle!” he blushed again.

She gave him the smile she used to give to the boys in the crowd after the performances, then turned her attention back to the four-winged raven on her shoulder. It seemed to be sleeping.

“And what about you? I'm going to name you _Jonquil_ , if you don’t mind?” It didn’t mind.

“Do you wish me to escort you to your home, lady Tanselle?” Thoma asked.

Tanselle suddenly remembered how late it was, and how worried her aunt and uncle would be. Thoma didn’t seem to be a bad man, yet she still hesitated before asking him for help. _Perhaps Jonquil will grow as big as a dragon, and I won’t fear anyone then._

Thoma was ecstatic to walk her to the inn, and they reached it without trouble, despite Thoma’s bravo attire and the plate with the fish heads he still carried. Probably they looked too silly for trouble.

When, Jonquil crooning on her shoulder, Tanselle said her goodbyes and was about to enter the inn, Thoma coughed nervously. He looked embarrassed and mildly scared.

“Yes?”

“Do you, perhaps, want to have a drink with me, maybe? Maybe tomorrow, or when the beast settles in its new home?”

She was expecting it. She thought it over for a moment.

“Tomorrow? And why not.”


	62. "I’m going to walk away and pretend I didn’t see anything.” (Daeron the Drunken, tiny cracky au snippet)

_No. This can’t be what the dream was about._ Daeron froze at the doorway, stupefied. He knew that his poor brain wouldn’t recover from this. Just for once he wanted to be a hero, to save his cousin from an evil traitor and get all the praise. Now he wasn’t sure he could escape alive - either his cousin would murder him or the sight of the... _escapade_ would be the end of him. He should have known better. His dreams were tricky, and sometimes dragons represented people. He should have realized that there was something unusual about it, that his cursed gift would never lead him to some heroic deed. _Ugh._ Why did the gods send him _that_ vision? He surely didn’t want to know what his relatives did behind the closed doors. 

His cousin looked positively murderous now.

"I’m going to walk away and pretend I didn’t see anything,” Daeron muttered and quickly shut the door, barely escaping the boot that was thrown at him.


	63. "I thought you loved her.” (young Daemon I and Bloodraven, mentioned Daemon/Daenerys)

“I thought you loved her,” little Brynden muttered. He looked confused and almost upset.

“What do you mean, little brother?” Daemon smiled encouragingly. He was always eager to help his younger siblings.

“Princess Daenerys. You’ve told me you loved her.”

Daenerys, his Lady of Sunshine, with her laughing eyes... the loss still hurt.

“And I do love her. But she is the other man’s wife now. Daeron was firm about that... What bothers you? Don’t be afraid to tell me.”

“But you'd have crowned her today as you queen of love and beauty? If you have won? Wouldn't it have shamed her?”

No, but it would have upset the King and the Dornish Prince. Daenerys, she would have understood. She loved him. They were so close that sometimes Daemon thought they could read each other’s minds. She would have known... _Little Brynden looks just like a disgruntled little raven._ How could Daemon explain this to him? In the heat of the tourney Daemon had thought that perhaps she would have run away with him, had he shown his strength, the true strength... despite the scandal, she would have understood... _Damn, Baelor._ Daemon thought he and the crown prince were friendly, but of course Baelor chose his own kin.

“It wouldn’t have been shameful. Daenerys is a true dragon, she is above vulgar gossip. It would have reminded her how desirable she is. The women, Brynden, they love it, to be shown that you would do anything for them, no matter how reckless it may seem. They need a conqueror.”

Brynden wasn’t convinced. “But she is married now, you said it yourself! You’d have been in trouble!” he persisted. “And what about Lady Rohanne?”

Rohanne was upset indeed, but Daemon had explained it to her many times before. This was the way of the Dragonlords, and she seemed to understand. Never shied away from his bed anyway. 

“My wife understands,” he replied curtly.

Brynden still looked dubious. Daemon discovered that he didn’t like seeing that expression on his brother’s face.

“To tell you the truth?” Daemon whispered with a conspiratorial wink. He was above common deception, but Brynden was clearly too young to understand something that Daemon himself could hardly put into words... untangling his feelings about the situation with Daenerys and the tourney was hard... perhaps, just perhaps, he _was_ in the wrong. “I wouldn’t have crowned Daenerys if I’ve won. I just boasted because I was bitter, and I wanted to make Daeron worry. Do you understand? That wasn’t right, that wasn’t chivalrous of me, I admit it. But in truth I just wanted to win, and if I’ve won, I'd have crowned Rohanne or the queen. You see?”

“I see,” Brynden nodded.

“Well, don’t repeat my mistakes,” Daemon concluded. “Now, how about we go to the archery range and you show me your progress?” Daemon winked again, and this time Brynden giggled happily andblushed pink at the attention. “And then I will tell you how to win over a woman.”


	64. “Time changes people.” (Dunk before the duel with Lyonel)

_Time changes people. Or so some men say,_ Duncan muses to himself, scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror. _Others say we stay the same at our core._ He is not a maester or a septon who ponders on human nature, yet he can’t help but wonder… Tomorrow he faces in battle the man who had helped him so many years ago. The man who threw the realm into a bloody war over a slight to his daughter. Duncan will face him in combat where one of them may die. Would Lyonel yield? Would Duncan yield?

“I can fight him in your stead, you know. I’m better than you and younger too,” Glendon declares from his seat by the window.

“He wants to fight me. If not the prince, then it should be me.” Duncan doesn’t mention that the suggestion to fight the son of a whore and a traitor would only make Lyonel more furious.

_Does time change people?_ He remembers young Glendon, as prickly and stubborn as he is now. He remembers laughing, gregarious Ser Lyonel, throwing decorations from the helms into the crowds. Was he the same bitter, terrifying man back then? Has something snapped when his daughter and his honour were insulted?

Duncan feels sad. Sad, but not lost. He knows he must fight. Aegon is sulking in his solar, and the prince wanders around the castle, anxious and ashamed - he would probably beg to fight Lyonel himself again, but Duncan is thinking about the girl. That girl, scared and confused at why all these highborn people, starting with the man who was supposed to be her good-father, want to hurt her so much. Ser Duncan, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, with all his faults and sins, still has something from Dunk, the hedge knight-who-wasn’t-knighted, left in him. He couldn’t let Egg’s son, Jenny’s husband fight, could he? He stepped forward. He will stop the Laughing Storm and his bloody rebellion. He will do it. But not for the crown.


	65. "You, my friend, are a complete and utter fool.” (Humfrey Hardyng and Humfrey Beesbury, silly, future in-laws)

“Do you think Lady Pryor will make an appearance today?” Humfrey’s soon-to-be brother in marriage asked. They both were bored. They were surrounded by older men and women, while Lady Hanna was giving a tour around the garden to the younger ladies. So the young men had nothing better to do than chat lazily and try to get to know each other. Unfortunately, Humfrey wasn’t good at idle talk, and besides, he was not sure what to make of his good-brother-to-be. Them both being named ‘ _Humfrey’_ was awkward, and he wasn’t happy that young lord Beesbury, who just turned ten-and-six, was taller than him.

“I don’t think she will,” Beesbury answered his own question without waiting for Humfrey to reply.

“Why? Is she unwell?”

“Have you not noticed? She’s very pregnant at the moment. Probably is tired after traveling in her state.”

Humfrey gasped in shock. Beesbury was talking about his own aunt! Lady Hanna’s aunt! 

Beesbury gave him a curious look, “What’s with the gasp? Uncle Harrold has been bragging about their future child all morning. Have you not heard it?”

“That doesn’t mean you should use that word!”

“What word? _Tired_? _Pregnant_?”

Humfrey felt his face turn red. “ _Expecting_ is the proper way to say it,” he muttered.

Beesbury had the audacity to snicker at him. “You Vale people are indeed too proper. No one here minds if you say the word _pregnant_.”

Humfrey opened his mouth to make a cutting remark about the Reachmen but couldn’t think of anything. Besides, he was older and above this.

“Or mayhaps it’s just you,” Beesbury continued. “You are blushing even now. Brace yourself, Honey’s going to eat you alive.”

“Is my son bothering you, Ser Humfrey?” Lady Beesbury interjected. She had probably noticed the tension, if not overheard the whole conversation. Humfrey prayed she hadn’t heard. “Pay him no mind, he always teases others when he doesn’t know what to say.”

“No, not true,” Beesbury objected.

“Yes, true,” Lady Beesbury ruffled his hair affectionately.

_It should be good to have a family like this,_ Humfrey mused to himself. His own parents were very strict and would have never shown their affection in public. That didn’t mean he wanted to have someone like young Beesbury for his brother, though.

“Why don’t you show Ser Humfrey your dagger collection?” Lady Beesbury smiled encouragingly at her son. “His grandfather has started it. Our men are very passionate about it,” she explained to Humfrey. 

That did sound interesting. Humfrey wondered whether his good-brother-to-be was a good fighter. Somehow he doubted it.

He followed Beesbury into a well-lit small room where ancient daggers were placed on a table under an expensive glass cover, while newer ones decorated the walls.

“Not that many, but they all have history,” Beesbury proclaimed with pride in his voice. 

Humfrey could see that, while it wasn’t the Royce’s armoury by any means, some of the daggers were indeed remarkable.

“Look at this one,” Beesbury pointed at an ancient dagger with a simple hilt. “Ellyn Ever Sweet used it to protect herself and her children.”

“From bees?”

“From a bear! Bees are our friends. Don’t you know the history of our House?”

“You don’t believe it’s true, do you?” Humfrey wouldn’t put it past the Reachmen. He only hoped that Lady Hanna was more pragmatic than her brother.

“Honey does.”

_Oh._ Good then. His future wife believed the founder of her House could actually communicate with the bees. _Good._

“You made that face again,” Beesbury made a ridiculous grimace. “It’s a good story, everyone loves it. Do _you_ have any good stories to tell? Of your House or your own amusing adventures?”

Humfrey scowled. He wasn’t some wandering singer to entertain others with stories. But it did seem like Lady Hanna’s brother was testing him. And he did have one story.

“I once fought a boar,” he said nonchalantly. And it was almost true.

“In truth?!” Beesbury’s eyes grew wide. “Was it a hunt?”

“I was only four-and-ten, and I was practicing with a training sword,” he made a swishing movement, “and I was alone in a small yard. I’ve already won two squire’s tourneys, but still I trained hard. And suddenly a great beast rushed at me from the bushes! And I hit it right on the snoot with my wooden sword, and it run away.” 

Beesbury looked sceptical, “You scared a wild boar just like that?”

Humfrey stared at the floor. “Well, it wasn’t wild. It was Truffle, our praised hog, grandfather bought it at the Saltpans market. It liked to run away, and it was mad at me for that blow for years, but I was just startled, that’s all. Didn’t want to hurt it... Pigs are very smart,” he concluded.

“It was a common pig?!”

Humfrey shrugged, “You said you wanted to hear an amusing story. And it’s a funny story.”

Beesbury laughed at that. "You, my friend, are a complete and utter fool. But I am starting to like you.”


	66. “You should be nice to me, I just saved your life.” (Glendon/Aelora, Queen!Aelora AU)

The lady is smiling at him. Glendon doesn’t like that smile, it makes him feel… odd. The lady is very pretty, much prettier than the girls back in the Pussywillows, and very elegant-looking. A grey streak runs through her brown hair, and her olive skin is peppered with freckles. 

“Please, smile, my good Ser,” she says. Glendon scowls at her. “You should be nice to me, I just saved your life!” she adds with a laugh.

It is true, in a way. The guards were ready to attack him, but she ordered them to let him be. She praised him and called him her savior, and it made him blush, despite the pain in his injured arm.

“I saved you first,” he retorts, “m’lady.”

“And yet you are so… not nice,” she says. “Do you ever smile?”

She’s teasing him. He understands it’s teasing. He’s not good with words, so he just scowls and sulks.

“I need to go.”

“No,” her face suddenly grows worried. “No, please, I must apologize! I shouldn’t have teased you after my guards threatened you. Please forgive me.” She swallows nervously. “I was… I was so scared, but then you saved me, and I was just so happy to be alive and well, I felt like a young girl for a moment. But I should have thought about my savior too. No, don’t cringe, that’s who you are, and I am truly grateful.”

He shrugs, “It’s nothing m’lady. The girls back at the… back home teased me all the time. I’m not good with it. I’m much better with the sword. And the lance. I’m good with my lance too. I can defeat anyone.”

She raises her eyebrows as if to tease him again or laugh, but shakes her head instead. “Let us show your wound to maester Gerarld. I hope it is nothing serious, but he is an excellent healer.”

Her smile is bright and grateful, and her eyes are grey and deep. Glendon hopes he isn’t blushing again.


	67. “Don’t you just love it!” (Glendon’s sister and Glendon, Calla and Daemon II)

_Don’t you just love it!_ Her brother had returned from his tourney, bruised and hurting, with half of his fingernails gone! Gilly angrily poured warm water into a basin. She could hear the man who brought Glendon home, Ser Cat or something, talking to Marisa in the next room. Telling some stupid tales about her brother, how he behaved so bravely and defeated some ‘pretender’. _Who cares!_ He was hurt and miserable, and Gilly did not know how to comfort him. At times she couldn’t even understand him. Their father’s legacy, that was always all he cared about, his obsession. _Hero’s legacy for him, whore’s legacy for me,_ she thought bitterly. And look where it had got him! 

She prepared the water and returned to her brother’s new room. His old room was already given to Willis, the new servant. Glendon even dared to grumble about it.

“Feeling better?” she asked, as big sisters supposed to do. He muttered something in return.

“I’ll make you a compress with Alyssa’s flower, it’ll soothe the ache,” she told him.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Tell me what happened?”

She asked just to say something, but then Glendon started blinking like… like he was about to cry? Glendon? He had never cried, not even as a boy. She couldn’t even remember when… Suddenly she felt her own eyes welling up.

Like two stupid children, they cried together.

****

_Don’t you just love it!_ She had to wait for her ‘lord husband’ to return from his meeting with his associates, to deem her worthy of receiving the news! The news about her own brother! Calla paced from corner to corner, more furious than ever. Mother always told her she was wild, uncontrollable. _Ha!_ Unlike her mother, Calla always knew she never had even the semblance of control. ‘Bad-tempered’, her husband called her. 

Daemon had never called her anything like that, he looked up to her as if she was some wise princess, and she was so stupidly proud to be an exemplary older sister. That’s why it hurt so much when he tried to involve her in his reckless scheme and his feud with Aegor. Foolish boy! How had she hated him for that! Always chasing their father’s legacy. And could he even truly remember their father?

Calla paced and raged, and then Aegor came home, grim and silently fuming.

“Your brother’s folly cost us much,” was the first thing out of his mouth.

“Is he dead?” she asked then.

Aegor shook his head in disgust, “He was captured alive. Coward.”

“He’s not a coward! You know that!”

Aegor snorted. She wanted to slap him but didn’t dare.

“We need to act at once, then!” she said instead, but he sneered at her. He didn’t plan to act. He wanted Daemon to fail from the beginning, she realized then. Fail and die, so he could crown Haegon. But Bloodraven was smart enough to keep Daemon hostage. Aegor didn’t intend to save Daemon, though, and Haegon wouldn’t do anything without his approval. That meant her choice not to ask Aegor to help Daemon meant nothing. Aegor would rather send an assassin to finish her brother off.

She raged, she shouted, and when Aegor left, and she was alone, she cried.


	68. “It bit me!” (Baelor and Valarr, on the road to Ashford)

“Get away!” Valarr yelped and swatted at something with a curse. His horse squealed in alarm.

Baelor turned to his son, “What happened?” 

“It bit me!” Valarr was frowning, mortally offended. “A damn fly or something like that. Hurts as seven hells.” He showed his hand, but Baelor couldn’t see any bite marks.

“Doesn’t look dangerous,” he said, trying to speak in a mild tone.

Truth be told, Valarr was spoiled too much by Jena and the court. Baelor knew it. He suspected his son knew it too, hence his disagreeable mood on the road to Ashford. Valarr should’ve known well how his opponents would behave at the tourney, at least during the first day. Baelor had warned him before. Yet Valarr was too proud to admit it, to discuss it, even if it bothered him. Instead he chose to complain about every little thing to his father.

“Do you think it will swell?” Valarr was asking him now.

“Show it to maester Yormwell when we stop.” _Does he expect me to fuss over him like Jena would?_ Baelor wondered to himself.

Valarr bit his lip, mulling something over. “Do you think Aerion will be there? Will he compete?” he asked at last. There was alarm in his voice.

“It’s possible. But he should behave in front of his father.” Baelor himself was unnerved by Aerion at times, and he wanted to reassure Valarr, but his son was already a man grown, and Baelor didn’t know how to approach him without injuring his pride. He remembered himself at that age - less pampered and often hurting, but still proud and vain.

“Father?” Valarr asked after a pause. “Would you train with me when we stop at the Greentree Inn? I’ve heard they have training grounds there.”

“I didn’t even bring my armour with me,” Baelor laughed. Nearing forty he began to feel his age. “I would rather rest and work on my correspondence.”

“Ah,” Valarr’s blue eyes grew disappointed. “When we are back to King’s Landing, perhaps? You’ve helped me train when I was a squire, do you remember?” 

“Of course,” Baelor already regretted making light of Valarr’s request, and perhaps he would understand his sons better if he had more time to spend with them. But he was the Hand of the King. Oh, how busy he was and so tired sometimes. “I will try to find time when we are back.”


	69. “You have approximately 5 seconds to get out of my face before I kill you” (Dunk, Tanselle, Aerion, modern AU take on THK events)

“Please, just leave me alone!” the girl shouted. She got up from her seat and tried to gather her things, but the young man, whom Dunk recognized as Egg’s older brother Aerion, grabbed her by the arm and forced her to sit back down. The girl cried out in pain, and other people in the cafe stared and whispered among themselves, but no one stood up to help. 

“You will do it! I’ll pay money, so why the bitching?” Aerion snarled.

“I won’t do it, and you let me go! Find another artist!”

“Don’t mouth me off, you...”

“What’s going on?” Dunk interjected. “Stop bothering her!”

“And who is this brave knight? Ah, little Egg’s new babysitter. How cute.”

“Leave her alone!”

“Not your business,” Aerion sneered.

“Please, he is threatening me,” the girl pleaded.

“Go, Aerion, leave now...”

“As if someone like you or her can do anything to me!” 

Dunk grabbed him by the collar and forced him to stand up. Aerion hissed like a snake and tried to hit him.

“You have approximately five seconds to get out of my face before I kill you,” Dunk told him, imagining how it would feel to pock him in the eye.

“As if you would dare! Did you forget who my father is?!”

Aerion wasn’t very smart, was he?

“Oh, yes, I remember. And do you know I can punch you in your face, then call your uncle and your grandfather? Egg gave me the numbers. Whose side will _they_ take? Go, while you still can. And don’t try to bother the girl again, or I’ll tell your family.”

Aerion spat at his feet, but collected his things and left.

“I hope he won’t make more trouble,” Dunk muttered.

“Th-thank you,” the girl touched his arm gently. Dunk now noticed she was pretty, with olive skin and black hair, and very tall, although still a head shorter than him. Dunk felt his ears start burning.

“That’s nothing. Are you alright?” 

She nodded, “I think I am. He was starting to get scary...”

“That was Aerion. I know his brothers. He’s a nasty piece of work, but he leaves to study in Lys soon, so he shouldn’t be bothering you. Still I better tell his uncle about this, he’ll do something.”

“I’ve seen this Aerion around, he was attending open lectures in my college, but I didn’t expect him to be so unhinged,” she was quickly gathering her things. Dunk noticed a notebook with sketches, pencils. 

“Are you, em, are you an artist?” he asked nervously. 

“It’s a hobby of mine, actually I study Puppet Arts.” She smirked, “Yes, I know, unusual.”

“I think it’s cool,” Dunk was quick to assure her.

“Careful or I won’t shut up about the history of traditional Rhoynar theatre,” she laughed. He liked her laugh. He thought about inviting her for a drink. He had never invited anyone for a drink before.

“And my name is Tanselle, by the way,” she added.

“I'm Duncan, but you can call me Dunk. It’s a beautiful name... your name, not mine!” Now his ears and his cheeks were burning.

“Thank you,” she replied kindly. He could tell she was trying not to laugh at his blunder. His face fell.

“You can walk me back to my school, if you want? It’s five minutes from here,” she gave him a shy smile.

“Sure! I would be happy to. Do you want to drink coffee or something? On the way... If you have time?” 

“I’ve had two cups already, and the classes start soon. Maybe in the evening? We can meet here?”

“I would be happy,” he replied, blushing.

****

“If you don’t mind me asking... What did Aerion want?” Dunk asked on the way to her college. 

Tanselle snorted. “He saw my works at the college exhibition and decided he wanted to commission me some... things,” she giggled.

“What?”

“Dragon porn. Had sketches and references ready.”

Of course he did. But Dunk _had_ to know. 

“Were it humanoid dragons or just dragons?” he whispered.

“Both.”

_Of course._


	70. “Did you buy me… lingerie?” (Rhaegel/Alys, modern au, new marriage)

“Did you buy me… lingerie?” Rhaegel pulled half of the red thing-y out of the box. It was pleasant to the touch, but he had no idea what it was supposed to be.

“Rhaegel, please,” Alys laughed. “It’s a tree decoration.”

“Really?” It looked like a very long red sock with a pattern of little bumps on it. Alys liked those kinds of things, but Rhaegel was more traditionally inclined when it came to decorations. The pattern looked cool, he guessed.

“A novelty tree decoration. I saw it at the new store and couldn't resist. You don’t like it?”

“No, no, I think it’s good to have something new. I just can’t imagine how it will look on the tree.” He hoped he didn’t upset his wife. He knew she was trying very hard to cheer him up, even if she was still awkward about his illness. “Let’s put it on!”

Taking Alys by the hand Rhaegel lead her into the room where their tree stood. It was their first New Year tree, and they were very proud of it. Yes, Rhaegel mused, it wasn’t the familiar old tree back at home, the one his family have had for ages, the one he and his brothers decorated with the help from their mother and grandma Naerys, but this tree was also perfect - for him and Alys. Maybe one day they would even have children who would love it and see it as a marvel.

Alys draped the new decoration over the lower branches. Rhaegel didn’t think it was anything special, but it added a pleasant touch. Alys looked happy.

“Does it look good?” she asked.

“Yes, I think,” he assured her. “We shall take a picture and send it to mom. She loves decorations.”

Alys nodded. Rhaegel knew she thought he was such a mommy’s boy... and, well, he was. For a moment he felt sad again. Maybe it was his new medication, maybe it was just the feeling of loss from spending the holidays far from his family. But Alys was with him, she was his family too. He told himself not to let the sadness and nostalgia to overcome him, and turned to his wife with a smile.

“Let’s pose in front of the tree!” he said, and she smiled brightly in return. 


	71. “Oh yeah, because you’d be so good at this!” (Tanselle/Dunk, Tanselle has a cold, ambiguously AU)

“Ugh,” Tanselle dragged herself out of bed, feeling utterly miserable. Her left nostril had betrayed her, and she could hardly distinguish the smell of fresh paint when she opened a new bottle of Riverland’s blue and promptly spilled it all over herself. Her eyes felt itchy. All she wanted was to sleep, but her uncle had asked for her help, and she was already late. _Just need to concentrate._

“Do you have to do it today?” Dunk put his head into the room. He was so concerned for her while she was sick, it was adorable. Unfortunately, he was also constantly distracting her.

“Yes, uncle needs these finished for tomorrow’s play.”

“Don’t overwork yourself, your health is more important,” he told her sagely, as if she didn’t know all the platitudes herself.

“It’s not a hard work. I just need to paint these birds.” She just had to focus.

“Maybe… maybe I can do it? I can help!”

Tanselle gave him a poisonous look. Did he think it was some fancy leisure activity idle ladies entertained themselves with? It was for the play! Did he realize it was important? It wasn’t a hard work, but it required skill. Also she needed to sneeze very badly.

“Oh, yes, because you’d be so good at this!” she muttered under her breath, reaching for the handkerchief. 

Dunk lowered his head and shuffled his feet. Almost in his thirties, he still had such a low sense of self-esteem. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Well, now she felt guilty.

“No, no! It was very sweet of you to offer your help. I am sorry I snapped at you.”

He smiled at her, “I understand. And I better leave this to the professionals. But I do wish to help.”

Tanselle sighed. She felt like crying. “After I finish, you can deliver them to my uncle? And maybe you could buy those cakes from the new bakery? Remember? Those would cure me in no time,” she forced herself to laugh.

Dunk’s face lit up. “Of course I will!”

She reached for another handkerchief. The first one was already too icky. 

Then an idea came to her. “Perhaps I can teach you how to paint, once I feel better? If you want?”

He looked shocked by this. “Well, if you… I don’t think I would be good at it…”

She smiled, “We will see.”


	72. “I’m sorry.” (Maekar, Blackfyre Rebellion AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for brief injuries/gore (in the very beginning) and mention of child death

“I’m sorry,” Baelor’s voice is a terrible, wheezing whisper. The left side of his face is a mess, his left eye gone. Quentyn Ball’s work. “I should have rushed the troops forward... I shouldn’t have stopped at Bronzegate...” 

“Stop talking,” Maekar orders him. He can see the banners of the advancing Blackfyre forces. _So close._ How did it end up like this? He should be fighting, but he can’t abandon Baelor. _At least Fireball is dead,_ he thinks with glee.

“Your Grace!”

Maekar turns his head. An older, shabby looking man with blooded face is holding the reins of a huge and very ugly war horse. A boy is slumped on the horse’s back. Dead.

“Take Rusty, Your Grace. He is swift, despite his looks, and very strong,” the man says.

“Help me.” Together they pull the dead boy down, and the man helps half-delirious Baelor get on the horse behind Maekar.

“Thank you,” Maekar knows he should say more to this man, but words are escaping him. “We won’t forget your help,” he adds.

“Arlan of Pennytree,” the man tells him with pride in his voice and points at his battered shield with something resembling a cup painted on it. “Now hurry!”

Maekar bows his head to this hedge knight and spurs the ugly horse, barely in time to avoid the troops trying to intercept them.

“I’m sorry,” Baelor repeats himself, and makes a weak attempt to grasp at his arm. “I’ve failed you, and I’ve failed father too.”

“Don’t talk,” Maekar tells him sternly. “Especially not some nonsense.” He is very tired, but they are gaining speed, and he can see the Baratheon and Martell banners ahead, regrouping. “We will escape.”


	73. “That night never happened!” (Humfrey and Humfrey, before the trial)

“Are you serious about doing it?” Beesbury shakes his head in frustration. “Do you realize that Honey is going to murder me if you get yourself killed on my watch?”

“I won’t get myself killed,” Humfrey retorts. “I need to show the prince that he can’t just do whatever he wants. I need to pay him back for what he did. He killed my best horse.” Sitting in the saddle is painful, but he is sure he can manage. Unless he falls off the horse, that is.

Beesbury snorts. “I bet you won’t even get a chance to fight the prince. He will want to deal with the hedge knight.”

“We can’t know how the trial will go.”

“You are injured! You know that Lord Florent died because he went on a hunt while his leg was still healing?”

“Lord Florent was old. I’m young and healthy. And better than most of the knights here. Definitely better than that snotty princeling.” In truth, he is afraid, but that won’t stop him.

“Better at jousting maybe, not at making decisions,” Beesbury tells him in an annoyingly patronizing tone. Humfrey feels the urge to stick his tongue out at him. “Maybe you should learn from me,” Beesbury adds.

“From you?! Remember when you got drunk at your aunt’s name day feast and tried to do the finger dance of the Ironborn? Good thing no one got maimed!”

“That night never happened!” Beesbury interjects and looks around to confirm that nobody could have heard it. He is laughing though. “Well, maybe I _am_ as bad as you. Then I participate in your stead. Save family honour and all.”

“You?” No, Humfrey can’t allow it. His good brother is still green.

“Hey! I nearly unhorsed you yesterday! The 'Battle of Humfrey' they called it! At least I'm not injured.”

“No. I was insulted. My honour was insulted. My horse was killed. I must do it myself.”

They argue some more.

“I can’t convince you not to be stupid and not to risk your health, can I?” Beesbury asks with a sigh.

“No.”

“Then we will be stupid together. I bet the hedge knight has trouble finding all participants.”

“You don’t need to, Humfrey...”

“Can’t let my sister’s husband endanger his stupid self all alone,” Beesbury laughs. “Together we can help each other during the fight. Just remember that if I get hurt, mother will have your hide.”


	74. “You should marry me.” (Naerys/Melissa, modern au)

Missy raised her head from her book. Surely she was mistaken. 

“What did you say?” she asked. She must have misheard it.

“You should marry me,” Naerys said. Her hands were clasped together in her usual nervous gesture, but her face was resolved. “I’ve heard that man has proposed to you, but I... I love you... and I know you feel the same way. You should marry me, not him.”

“Are you sure you are serious?” Missy blurted out.

Naerys frowned, “You are the one who always tells me I’m too serious. Of course I'm serious. I prayed to the Crone all night to give me wisdom and strength to confess. So...”

Melissa didn’t need to think too long about it. “I agree... Is this how you say it in the Crownlands? I love you, and I want to marry you.”

Naerys’s face relaxed, and her eyes lit up. “Can we kiss now?” she whispered.


	75. “Aren’t you just a cutie pie!” (Dunk and Egg, angsty, about mothers)

The woman leaned down, offering a tray full of pies. Egg took one and thanked her very politely. Too politely for a squire of a hedge knight, but the woman didn’t notice. “Aren’t you just a cutie pie!” she exclaimed, flattered. “Take some more, dear.”

Dunk couldn’t remember women ever fawning over him like that. Perhaps because he was a weird, shabby child, too awkward and uncouth. 

The woman’s daughters stood on the porch, giggling among themselves. _We are a strange sight to them_ , Dunk thought. He wanted a second pie too, but didn’t dare to ask under their gaze. He felt like they would laugh at him.

“These little rascals, so much trouble with them,” the woman nodded at her daughters. “But they are worth it, don’t you agree?” she added in a whisper, just as Dunk and Egg turned to leave. The girls waved them goodbye.

****

“What is it?” Dunk asked on their way back to the road. Egg was sulking again, and even ignored Maester’s attempts at chewing on his hat. “Do the pies give you stomach ache?”

Egg gave him a sour look. “No, the pies are very good, Ser. It’s not… just… that woman, Anna, and her daughters, they are very nice… while you were repairing their fence, she was telling me how she braids her youngest daughter’s hair, and Daella once told me… Never mind…” The boy grew silent again.

Dunk realized he was probably thinking about his mother. Egg rarely ever spoke of her, but the few times he mentioned her, even Dunk could tell that the wound left by her death was deep and still fresh. Egg wouldn’t tell stories about her, like he would about his siblings and father, and would quickly change the subject if he happened to mention her. Dunk even thought sometimes that Egg might be angry at her for leaving him. Dunk sighed. What could he know? He had never known his own mother, had never known what it felt like to have a mother figure in his life.

They continued walking in silence.


	76. “Don’t you dare.” (Daemon II, Rohanne, angst, family drama)

The evening is pleasantly warm, the food, prepared by the new cook, is excellent. Haegon has already forgotten about his recent injury and is begging for more stories about Daemon’s adventures back home. The little ones don’t think of Westeros as their home, of course, but for Daemon it still is, and he remembers it well. He tells a splendid story, albeit slightly embellished, about the time he and Calla participated in a falcon hunt. The children listen with open mouths, and mama nods, smiling at him fondly.

“Did you have your own falcon?” Haegon asks eagerly. 

“No, but I wanted one. Aegon and Aemon laughed at me, told me scary stories of all the illnesses my bird would get.” Years later he is still bitter. Have the twins lived, would their relationship with Daemon have changed eventually? It is hard to tell now what was just sibling rivalry, and what was malice.

“Oh, that’s not nice,” little Ro says.

“Yes, they were often very mean and cru...” _Splash._ The little ones gasp. Daemon blinks. The cold, sticky lemon water drips down his face. It is in his hair too.

“Don’t you dare,” his mother hisses from across the table. Her hand, still holding the cup, is shaking. “Don’t you ever dare to badmouth your brothers...”

Haegon looks between the two of them, thumb in his mouth, and little Ro is sniffling softly.

_Why, mama?_ Daemon silently stands up and leaves.


	77. “Um... somebody broke that.” (Dyanna Dayne and her sister, Dyanna and Maekar, family drama)

“How are you feeling?” Louise asked. She had just arrived from Starfall but already wanted to know everything. “You look awfully tired.”

“I have just recovered from a cold. Nothing serious, but I couldn’t taste food for a week,” Dyanna tried to laugh it off. Her cold wasn’t even that bad, but she feared her younger sister wouldn’t understand her true concerns. Louise was too young, unmarried and childless. Why should she be burdened with Dyanna’s problems?

It was all because of the dreams. Daeron’s cursed dreams that made him scream and cry, that made Dyanna cry. Those dreams, they even made Daeron afraid of his own father. Dyanna had begged Maekar to be softer with the child, their firstborn, who was so sensitive and gentle, but Maekar decided that Daeron needed discipline and strictness. As if that could cure the nightmares. Maekar claimed that Daeron had to learn courage, that he wouldn’t allow their son to get pampered. _Or fall behind his brother’s children,_ Dyanna thought bitterly. Last week he had forced Daeron to compete with older pages, riding at rings, and Daeron cried and complained, and failed... Dyanna was so angry, only her cold had saved Maekar from her fury.

“Why are you so grim?” Louise was frowning too.

“It’s nothing, I just remembered something unpleasant, but it’s nothing important.” Splendid, now she made her little sister worry.

“Tell me! I’m not a child anymore! Your secrecy just makes me nervous.”

“I’m sorry. It’s little Daeron. He has nightmares, very vivid, and I worry as any mother would. Maesters tell us this happens sometimes, and it will pass with age.”

“Oh. Perhaps he can come visit Starfall? Sea air is soothing and good for health.”

“That’s... a really good idea!” _If Maekar allows it._ No, she must convince him. He should see reason. Daeron would learn how to swim and climb the cliffs, he would collect seagull eggs and seashells, and become brave. He could even train under his uncle, the Sword of the Morning. “This is an excellent idea, Lou!”

“Truly?” Louise laughed, clearly surprised herself. “You see, I’m the wise one now!”

“O, no. You are still my silly little sister!” Dyanna, suddenly in a good mood, pounced on Louise and started tickling her furiously. “Forever and ever!”

“Stop it!” Louise shook her off and made a run for the door. But Dyanna had longer legs, and they tumbled down together, laughing and shrieking, landing right on top of a Myrish vase that adorned one side of the door.

“What was that sound?” Maekar appeared in the doorway before they could compose themselves. Louise was still giggling. Maekar looked at them with amused curiosity and slight worry, and how different he looked now, so relaxed and loving. “What happened?”

Dyanna and Louise helped each other to their feet. The vase was a lost cause.

“Nothing, good brother,” Louise said.

“Um... somebody broke that,” Dyanna pointed at the vase, and Louise burst into giggles again. Maekar looked at the shards with amusement and laughed with them, and checked their hands for cuts, but Dyanna couldn’t help but think, bitterly, how different his reaction would have been if it was Daeron who broke it.


	78. “Stop biting that fucking lip!” (Rhaegel, character drama)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for brief descriptions of child abuse

“Stop it! Just stop it!” the woman shrieked and slapped the child across the face so hard, he stumbled down and fell into the dirt. 

Rhaegel gasped in shock and turned his horse around, despite Ser Andrew’s protests. 

Instead of getting quite, the child cried louder. “Little pest,” the woman almost growled and tried to kick him.

****

“Stop biting that fucking lip!“ the angry man, who, everyone claimed, was their grandfather, shouted, and suddenly Rhaegel heard a slap and felt pain, as the man’s huge palm connected with the side of his face. He had never been stricken before, but what terrified him most and froze him in place, was the man’s red, wrathful face and his round, splattering, salivating mouth. Mommy stepped between Rhaegel and the man, she was talking, but the man kept shouting.

_Wide open mouth. Small teeth. Fleshy tongue._ The man’s face didn’t even look human. It was a strange feeling. Rhaegel couldn’t stop his own hands from touching his own face, neck, collar...

****

The woman bowed before him.

“Is this child your son?” Rhaegel asked. He tried to hold himself like Baelor would. 

“My stepson, Your Grace. His father, my husband, is dead. The boy’s mother was a tavern wench of a bad repute. The boy inherited her nature, I’m afraid. And he wasn’t...”The woman paused, searching for a word. “Properly educated, Your Grace,” she finished, clearly proud of herself.

“Does he have any siblings or other relatives?”

“No. Had a sister, she died last winter. And good riddance, she was ought to grow into a loose woman.” 

The child gave the woman a look of pure hatred but then lowered his head again, even more miserable than before, and Rhaegel felt his own eyes welling up. Only the thought of Ser Andrew telling Fireball that he had shown such weakness had stopped the tears.

“Apologize to his Grace for your manners,” the woman nudged the child with her foot.

“No need to apologize, he is just a boy,” Rhaegel said quickly. “What is your name?” he asked the child, who mumbled something in response.

“Princess Aelinor is looking for pupils for her new school, where commonborn children are to be taught letters and numbers, and, as a pious woman, she accepts poor orphans. Rooms and food are provided. Afterwards the child will have the opportunity to become a maester or a septon, or even squire for a knight.” In truth, Rhaegel wasn’t certain whether Aelinor accepted the poor from Flea Bottom, but he knew he could convince her. “You would be paid for your trouble, of course.”

The woman’s eyes lit up. She agreed to give up the child without thinking. Or caring.

****

When he came around, he was lying in the bed. His head hurt, and he was very thirsty. Mother was talking to a maester in a hushed, worried voice, but Baelor was sitting near the bed, holding his hand.

“Wh... What happened?” Rhaegel mumbled. The light hurt his eyes.

“Hush, you had some sort of a fit,” Baelor explained in a whisper. “The maester says it happens sometimes with little children.”

“I’m not little, I’m seven.”

“You are little,” Baelor teased him, but his eyes were angry. Not at Rhaegel, though. “It’s all our grandfather’s fault, it’s all him,” Baelor hissed, but then mother send him away. 

Mother gave Rhaegel water to drink and sang him lullabies as if he was a baby, but he didn’t mind. He felt almost safe with her, even if the memory of the angry man lingered. He had never forgotten that night.

****

_What if the child had a mother and a father who loved him but were just frustrated and tired? What if the woman refused to give him up? What about all the other suffering children of Flea Bottom? Can you save them all?_

Rhaegel knew those questions awaited him in the Red Keep. He wasn’t stupid. _I need to be firm, I did a good thing_ , he glanced at the boy, riding behind fuming Ser Andrew with a blank expression on his face. _This child will have a future. Perhaps something can be done for other children too._


	79. “You’re hot, shame about the personality.” (failed Daemon II/Valarr, modern AU, crack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was made as an addition to my silly modern au comic that was made as a fill for a prompt meme, assumption is that their generation does not consider themselves family + theory that daemon i wasn’t aegon’s son that i use for my modern aus

Valarr stared down the stairwell in shocked disbelief. Daemon reached out to brush sweaty hair from his face, but he swatted the hand away. 

“This is rude!” Daemon sounded offended. “You know what? You’re hot, shame about the personality...”

“I think you, of all people, shouldn’t judge my personality,” Valarr snapped back. He should have known better than to allow his ex to arrange a date for him. “It’s your uncle who just died! Because of you! And you are already pawing at my hair!”

“No, I'm pretty sure it was the sight of _you_ that did for uncle Aegor,” Daemon interrupted without much care. “And he should have watched out for the bannister. Now I have to call my sister, she will know what to do. We probably have to dispose of the body... the swamp maybe?”

Valarr really hoped he was joking.

“It’s all... the... Rivers... all his fault...” a weak voice moaned downstairs, “I know it’s his... scheme... somehow...”

“See, now we know whose fault this is,” Daemon noted brightly, while typing furiously on his phone. “Funny how his own last name is also Rivers, though. Oh, and uncle Aegor is still alive, as we just heard.”

“Will you do anything then?”

“Yeah, perhaps I should call an ambulance...”


	80. “You’re going to get us expelled!” (maester Aemon and OC, young maester Aemon)

“You’re going to get us expelled!” Aemon complained on the way up the stairs. They had argued about Marcile’s plan before, of course, but only now he became worried. He had thought Marcile would lose courage half-way through, but it seemed that his friend was adamant to break into maester Gertjan’s workshop.

“So what?” Marcile raised an inquiring eyebrow. “You, a little princeling, can just return to your Dragonstone then.”

“To Summerhall,” Aemon corrected him. Why, oh why, was he friends with this bothersome man? “And are you not afraid to return to your family in disgrace?” 

Marcile shrugged, “I’m already a disappointment, heh.”

Aemon felt sorry for him - not good enough to become a knight and a third son. Marcile claimed he had no talent for fighting, and that the horses didn’t like him. Yet he looked so powerfully built and was so recklessly brave, that Aemon couldn’t help but wonder whether there were other reasons for his exile to the Citadel. And Marcile was handsome, too. His shiny pale blond hair made him look more Valyrian than Aemon. He would have had no trouble finding a wife.

Still, Marcile and his family knew that he wouldn’t make a good knight, while Aemon never had a chance to even try. He was just not remarkable enough, expendable. He didn’t even protest when grandfather was deciding his fate. He didn’t want to inconvenience his family. Sometimes he wished to become famous, to make some great discovery, something to awe all the archmaesters, or to write a book about... something... that would rival even the works of maester Lyonid and septon Barth... but outside of the Citadel maybe a handful of bookish lords would care, and raising up the ranks wouldn’t be difficult for someone born a prince, so it wouldn’t prove anything either. Perhaps that’s why he followed Marcile. Perhaps some part of him wanted to do something reckless and foolish out of spite, to show them all... still... Aemon frowned. This useless rebellion wouldn’t change his fate nor would it be a revenge on his grandfather. 

It wouldn’t be right to break into maester Gertjan’s workshop and spy on his work. And not just because of the rules. Maester Gertjan was a hardworking man from an impoverished family, who couldn’t become a knight because of his withered arm. His work on his ‘ _machines_ ’ was his life. It would be cruel to intrude. Or, perhaps, Aemon was just too cautious and rule-abiding.

“I really don’t think we should be doing it,” he said.

Marcile looked at him scornfully. “Very well then, I’ll go by myself. Stay here like a cowardly child.”

“I don’t think you should go either. You’ll be in trouble.”

“I want to see what he is working on in secrecy. We are here because of the knowledge, remember?”

“The knowledge that is freely given. Gertjan is a good man who is comfortable in his solitude. Give him his privacy.”

****

In the end, Aemon was right. Marcile went alone and was caught by archmaester Neirin himself, put into the stocks for half a day and expelled from the Citadel. He wouldn’t even look at Aemon when he departed, his face bruised from the vegetables that were thrown at him. Aemon considered writing to grandfather and the Grand Maester to appeal on his behalf, but Marcile was gone with a Tyroshi ship before he could act. Gone, never to return.

_He wouldn’t have wanted to stay after the humiliation, anyway,_ Aemon told himself. _And what Marcile did was wrong,_ he reminded himself. _He deserved punishment... But he wasn’t a bad man._

Aemon couldn’t stop wondering - if the little princeling was caught together with Marcile, would they have even gotten punished, much less expelled?

He feared for Marcile, all alone in the foreign lands, and at times he imagined them there together, having grand adventures. Those were foolish dreams. Aemon had chosen his path.


	81. “I need you to fake date me.” (Brynden/Kyle, one-sided Brynden/Shiera, fake!fake dating, crack)

“What?” Kyle was so astonished, he even put his slice of pie aside. “What did you just say?”

“I thought I was quite clear,” Brynden Rivers huffed. “I need you to fake a relationship with me.”

“Why, again?” By the Seven, Kyle just wanted to see the tourney!

“I’ve just told you. Shiera rejected me again, but if I show interest in someone else, she’ll become jealous, and then she’ll see...”

“Or she’s just not interested in you at all?” Gods, for someone so notorious Brynden was extremely dense. “Have you read this great plan in one of those Tyroshi novels you nobles love?”

“I know she’ll be jealous.”

“And why me?”

Brynden stared pointedly at the window. “No one else will do it,” he admitted.

“Maybe I won’t do it either. Remember how you deceived me and poor Glendon at our first meeting? You’ve already broken my heart!” Kyle guffawed at his own joke.

“I’ll buy a new saddle for your horse.”

“Very well, I’m all ears.”

****

“And what exactly do you want from me?” Shiera asked with a yawn. Brynden’s schemes were surely... unique.

“Just pretend you are interested in me. I’ll stop _‘pestering’_ you after, but pretend you are jealous.”

She snorted, amused. “Why?”

“So Kyle gets jealous.”

“Have you read it in a book for young girls? This is the stupidest plan, even worse than that time you tried to win me over by challenging Aegor to a mud fighting competition.” She sighed, “Just tell him you’re interested in him. You’ve never shied away from telling _me_ your feelings... What was the fourth time you proposed to me? On that cliff. Try it with the Cat, he seems like a romantic.”

“But... he is pretending to be with me, thinking I am still after you... I don’t know how this happened,” Brynden admitted. He sounded lost and confused. Shiera almost felt pity for him. _Almost._

She sighed again. “Just tell him. He looks like a type who’d appreciate the comedy.”


	82. “My back’s a bit sore from when you stabbed me with your knife.” (Aelora, Egg, Aelora lives AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for references to canon assault on Aelora, but this is an AU where she lives and a prelude to Queen!Aelora AU

“Oh!” Aelora’s eyes are wide and scared, then relief settles on her face. “Oh, it’s you, cousin!”

Egg stares up at her in disbelief. “Yes, that’s me. Rhae told me to bring you these flowers. _Ouch._ ”

“I see. They are beautiful! Please, thank her for me.” She gathers up the flowers from the floor as if nothing is amiss. The paper knife is put on a nearby table. “Please don’t just sit on the floor. Are you unwell?”

“My back’s a bit sore from when you stabbed me with your knife,” he tells her, still in disbelief. At least he doesn’t think he is bleeding - the small dull blade didn’t penetrate his skin. “But otherwise I’m feeling amazing.”

“Oh,” Aelora’s face grows dark, and she turns her head away. Her hands are shaking, nervous long fingers pulling and plucking at the flowers. “I’m really sorry about that.” Her voice is hollow. Petals fall onto the carpet.

“Yes, that was unfortunate,” Egg grumbles, “you attacking me like that, but I think I wasn’t hurt.” What is wrong with her? Perhaps Rhae would know. Aelora doesn’t turn her face back to him.

“I’ll be going then,” he tells her, getting to his feet. He doesn’t know what to expect from her - he and the twins were never close, but Aelora he remembers from before was always so mature and smart, even father used her as an example for Daella and Rhae. This new Aelora is almost unrecognizable.

“No, I am truly sorry,” she finally turns her face slightly towards him but doesn’t look him in the eye. “A man in my rooms. I _don’t want_ any men in my rooms. You’ve intruded without an invitation. Don’t do it again. It’s rude and improper regardless...”

Oh. _Oh._ Someone does deserve a big clout in the ear.

“I didn’t think about it...”

“Well, don’t do it again and warn the others,” she smiles and for a brief moment feels like her old self again, then her face twists. “Go, spread the rumours about crazy Aelora!” She laughs angrily.

“No! I won’t! I won’t spread rumours! I won’t tell anyone, unless you want me to! I swear!”

There is nothing he can say that will comfort or reassure her, so he leaves with a terrible feeling, wishing there was a way to help.


	83. “You’re just leaving me here? At least have a decency to finish me off with a stick.” (Duncan the Small, Egg, Daeron, family worries and fluff)

Duncan groaned and rolled over. His training armour was covered in dirt. Seven hells, his face was covered in dirt!

“Daeron wins! He wins again!” Shaera shouted. 

Gingerly, Duncan turned his head. Jaehaerys and Rhaelle were applauding from their seats, and mother and father were smiling at his victorious brother.

“Well fought... at least for you, brother,” Daeron informed him with a cocky smile. “Now I’m free to chance Ser Gawain again.”

Duncan rolled his eyes at his brother’s eagerness to fight. Then he remembered he would need to get up. His whole body ached. “You’re just leaving me here?” he pleaded in his most mournful voice that made even their maester-at-arms laugh. “At least have a decency to finish me off with a stick.”

“No, you don’t deserve it! And I don’t have a stick, only my training sword,” Daeron teased him, but helped him to his feet. “Now I’m ready for a real challenge and a new victory.” He turned and shouted for Ser Gawain. “It’s time for our battle!”

“Daeron is the Warrior himself,” Shaera exclaimed.

Duncan smiled indulgently and hobbled to sit beside his parents.

“He is still half a child, yet he shames me every time,” he complained, though he wasn’t truly bothered by Daeron’s success. He was even proud of his little brother, even if he wouldn’t admit it aloud.

Father muttered something under his breath.

“What is it, father?”

“Your grandfather, he would have been so happy if his son, my brother, Daeron was a warrior like our Daeron,” father smiled sadly. “Yet I fear for my son, and sometimes I wish he was more like his uncle or great-grandfather.”

“But he loves it! He is so happy. And besides, I am also expected to fight. And you too, for that matter. You’ve fought during the rebellion,” Duncan reminded him. “You’ve said yourself, training is important. Do you want Daeron to be unprepared?”

The stories of the Third Blackfyre Rebellion were too bloody and scary for Duncan, who much preferred the tales of his father’s childhood adventures with Ser Dunk, but he remembered them nevertheless.

“But I’ve never been so passionate about fighting or so talented. It’s a good thing, I know, yet I fear...” Suddenly father hugged his shoulders. “I fear for you too, don’t you worry. I fear for all of you. But I feel like your name protects you,” with an affectionate smile he ruffled Duncan’s hair.

“And I fear you are growing sentimental, father,” Duncan teased him.


	84. “No, I didn’t murder them. I accidentally knocked them unconscious forever, that’s all.” (Shiera and Adelaide (OC), Blackfyre Rebellion AU, crack taken seriously)

Adelaide is shaken awake by her father. His face is grim, but there is also a glint of strange amusement in his eyes.

“What? What is it?”

“Your witch is here.”

“Shiera? How?” She almost jumps out of the bed. Father won’t lie to her! _She is here, she is safe!_ What if Aegor has hurt her? 

They have been so isolated these last months! After Blackhaven was taken their situation was dire, they were besieged for a whole month, but two weeks ago the Blackfyre troops suddenly left. The rumours that reached them were wild: the pretender and Bittersteel were dead, the older children captured, the children fled to Tyrosh, Fireball took the throne, Daeron hatched a dragon, pretender’s daughter hatched a dragon, prince Baelor was on his way to the capital...

The woman in father’s solar is gaunt and tired, and looks much older than her years. Her lip is split by a ghastly scar. Adelaide rushes to her friend, and Shiera buries her head into her shoulder. They stand, embracing, for a long time, until father clears his throat.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Adelaide whispers.

“I’m glad too.”

“And Aegor is dead?”

Shiera’s smile is cold, “He and his king.”

“What happened?” father asks. “Bad stomach?” 

_He means poison,_ Adelaide realizes.

“A terrible accident. A whole section of the tunnels under the Red Keep collapsed. They should’ve known better than go down there, but there were rumours,” Shiera says, and there is something dark in her mismatched eyes, “that Brynden’s spy was hiding there. It was really tragic. Luckily I managed to escape in the confusion. Fireball survived, though. Apparently it takes more than a tunnel collapse to kill that man.”

“Did you...” Adelaide whispers once father finally leaves them alone.

“No, I didn’t murder them,” Shiera laughs. “I accidentally knocked them unconscious forever, that’s all.” She gestures at the portrait of Alan Wyl, famous for burying his former brother-in-arms alive in the catacombs. “You know, the story of this ancestor of yours was truly a great inspiration.”


	85. “Wow, thanks a lot.” (Raymun and his family, post THK)

“Stop it! Stop your blabbering!” father exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air.

Raymun looked at him in disbelief. He didn’t expect this reaction when he was telling his family about Ashford and what had transpired there. His mother stayed silent, indifferent, and his sisters looked bored. No help from them. And he was so sure his family would understand! He expected praise, he expected excitement over his new coat of arms. Not this.

“I taught Steffon a lesson. I proved myself. I took up a righteous cause,” he told them. His voice was quivering, and he began to stammer.

“The crown prince was killed in that shady affair! Because of you, our family is now connected to it, and my cousin is wroth with me over you going against our kin. You were his squire, for the Seven’s sake! And all because of some dirty brigand.”

“Blame Steffon and his treachery! The Seven proved our cause was righteous. Prince Baelor knew the risks. He went against his own kin too, to do what is right. And Ser Duncan the Tall is not a brigand but a true knight! Truer than Steffon!”

“Steffon is our family, and it’s not for you to teach him lessons,” father continued, not listening. “Have you thought about his poor, distraught mother? You worry about this _‘Ser’_ Duncan more than you worry about our reputation.”

 _Steffon is rotten to the core, and perhaps our whole tree is as well,_ Raymun wanted to say, but now he could see that they wouldn’t understand.

“I was knighted by Lyonel Baratheon, the Laughing Storm himself,” he reminded them instead. “That should count as something.” If they didn’t want to know the truth about Ser Duncan, who was so brave and handsome, they should at least appreciate that.

His mother pursed her lips. “Lyonel Baratheon is a rude, loud oaf,” she declared.

“Melissa!” father gasped in horror.

 _Wow, thank you all a lot,_ Raymun dismayed. He turned and left, not listening to father’s protesting shouts. He had had enough of his family. He was a knight now and almost a man grown. He should make his own decisions and make his own fortune.


	86. “Why are you walking around naked?” (Dunk, Whight Apocalypse AU)

_Splash._ “Why are you walking around naked?” Dunk asks the child. It doesn’t turn towards him, doesn’t seem to hear him at all, just trudges forward, bare feet covered in mud. _Splash._ Dunk tries to get a look at its face. Its eyes are glossy and unnaturally blue.

“Stop it, boy,” the old man grabs him by the elbow and forcefully pulls him away, back to the horses. Chestnut and Rusty seem to dislike the strange child, they cry in agitated, mournful voices. The child that marches through the mud is silent.

“What’s wrong with it?” Dunk asks. “Is it sick?”

There were plenty of sick children back in the Flea Bottom, back where he came from, but he has never met any as strange as this child. Sick children usually die. Maybe they can save this child. Maybe the old man will take it as another squire.

“Stop talking, or you’ll get a good clout, I swear by the Father,” Ser Arlan growls. Dunk recoils - the old man has never hit him so far and never threatened him in such a tone. “We need to leave _now_ ,” Arlan commands, still strangely angry. “Don’t run your mouth and get on Chestnut.”

They leave the child behind and ride for hours, only making stops to let the horses rest, the old man still angry and agitated. Is he... frightened? _Yes._ Dunk realizes that his knight is scared. 

They reach a small town, and Arlan immediately demands to see the captain of the garrison, shouts to be let in. The captain listens to his plea, and soon the bells at the town’s sept begin to toll. And across the muddy planes of the Riverlands the dead are marching.


	87. “You owe me big time!” (Brynden and Kyle, crack snippet)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continues from chapter 60

“You owe me big time!” Kyle was fuming. “I can’t believe I shared food and wine with you, while you were deceivingme and others!”

Bloodraven made a face, “l was gathering information, and you were quite happy to provide it. Certainly you weren’t worried about spies when you were running your mouth about the King’s family. And I was rather successful at stopping the rebellion, don’t you agree?”

“You are not very humble, are you?” Kyle sneered. “Well, at least your personality is the same. As smug as when you were Maynard.”

"And what happened to ‘good Ser Maynard’? Were you pretending to enjoy my company?”

“Perhaps? You know, you’re really not as scary as I thought.”

Bloodraven smiled innocently, “Unless I’m acting now, to put you at ease...”

Kyle pondered over it for a moment, “Nah, you’re too self-important for it. And you need someone to listen to your ‘mysterious’ quips.”

Brynden frowned, “This can be fixed easily... Stop laughing!”


	88. “Aww, it’s so cute!” (Daenora pondering on her marriage)

_Aww, it’s adorable!_ Daenora thought, looking from the window down at her husband and son playing together in the garden. Aerion was dandling a toy dragon in front of Maegor, who was trying to catch it. The dragon was commissioned from the best Lyseni master and looked both adorable and terrifying at the same time, though her son didn’t seem to like this unique toy more than other, simpler ones, and, if allowed, would play happily with any dirty piece of wood, much to his parents’ chagrin. Aerion would rage at the useless toy maker and try to find a better one. But at the moment they looked so peaceful, so normal together, father and son.

_Poor Maegor._ Daenora sighed and reflected with sadness on her marriage. Despite her mother’s fears they weren’t a bad match. Aerion had never been cruel to her, and for a long time Daenora even thought that they were two kindred souls, two true dragons among the lesser beasts and those who had forgotten their roots. But recently Aerion grew unstable. Naming their son ‘Maegor’ was foolish and detrimental to their reputation, and now this talk about turning into a dragon. He had even found a self-proclaimed mage from Asshai to consult with. And all of this now, when he and their son were so close to the throne! Old uncle Maekar was getting softer in the head, and who would want Daeron’s daughter on the throne after him? Offspring of a useless drunk and a foreign harlot. The girl probably had her father’s pox in her! Daenora shuddered, imagining such a disgrace. No, the girl would be skipped, just how Daenora herself was skipped because of her age and behavior, and Aerion would be his father’s heir, and after him Maegor. Her son. But no one truly wanted Aerion… Maegor’s cause wasn’t lost, though. Her Arryn relations would back him up, and Bloodraven, if Daenora would be convincing enough. She _must_ be convincing.

It was just really sad how such a great marriage was ruined by her husband’s impulsive foolishness. Daenora always suspected that something similar happened to her siblings. It destroyed poor Aelora, as perfect as she seemed, but Daenora was a different sort of woman. She clutched the flask - identical to the flask with the ‘magical’ liquid the so-called mage had given to her husband. She had overheard one of Seastar’s witchy friends whisper that it was just a cough medicine with shade-of-the-evening added to it. It would have given Aerion the most marvelous visions of turning into a winged creature, no doubt. To die for that, though… what a sad ending for the dragon. Yet, today he would feast and get drunk, and drink from a flask to transform himself into a beast.

Daenora sighed, gazing at the adorable scene under her window. Maegor had finally caught the toy. Aerion was laughing. 

Daenora herself had never dreamed of the dragons, but the wildfire always fascinated her.


	89. “Are you hitting on me?” (Dunk/Nan, modern au, cracky snippet)

Nan closed her book and gave Dunk a curious look, “Are you hitting on me?”

“I… I’m…” He wasn’t sure. He was trying to give a compliment on her story. The professor had told her to tone it down, and Dunk thought she might be upset. He was far from an expert and just learned to read properly, but he thought her stories were very clever, if extremely gory. But he did fancy the strange Northern girl too.

“You can tell me, don’t be afraid,” she said, fidgeting with the book, 'Folklore beyond the Wall’.

“Yes,” he admitted, “Yes, but I wanted to compliment you on your story too…”

“Thank you,” she smiled shyly. “I sort of… I mean, I like you, and…”

“So, we can, um, we can go on a date? If you want?”

Her eyes, behind the thick round glasses, lit up, “Maybe we can go to the cinema? ‘The Legend of the Mad Axe 3′ just premiered!” She looked up at him in excitement.

Well, Dunk had spare money, but the choice of the movie… It sounded like something she would love, for sure, but…

“Yes, of course,” he heard himself say. 

Oh, he just knew he would have nightmares for weeks…


	90. “If I die, you’ll be sorry!” (one sided Brynden/Shiera, after the Red Grass)

“Marry me, Shiera,” Brynden moans and clutches at her hand. His face is covered in bandages; one eye that is visible is bloodshot and shines with fever. _His only remaining eye._

Shiera laughs off his ‘proposal’ - he was given milk of the poppy and most likely doesn’t even know what he is talking about. “Sorry, brother, I have to decline,” she tells him. Poor Brynden, when he recovers - and he _will_ recover, she knows he will - she will tease him so hard for it, and they will laugh at his ridiculous rambles together! 

“I love you,” he whispers. “You shall be mine, not Aegor’s, not his...”

Is he serious? She recalls the face of that man, Bittersteel, his hungry eyes and the rumours. The rumours that followed her, and the rumours that followed her mother before her, like a family curse. She frees her hand from her brother’s grasp. He doesn’t know what he is talking about, his mind is clouded, but she can’t help but resent him at the moment.

“Tell me you’ll be mine,” he slurs. “Or I’ll die without knowing.”

“Stop it, Brynden. You will live. And regret this nonsense.”

“If I die, you’ll be sorry!” he cries out, surprisingly fiercely. 

An alarmed guard pokes his head into the tent.

_Maybe I won’t be sorry,_ Shiera thinks, but immediately regrets it. _Pain and milk of the poppy clouded his mind. But it’s temporary. Be patient._

She waves the guard away.

“Shush, Brynden,” she tells him in a soft voice. “You’re ill now. I love you in my own way.”

He tries to catch her hand again but is too weak, and soon he falls asleep. Shiera stays with him the whole night.


	91. “Help me hide!” (Rhaegel and Daeron, Daeron and Aerion, family drama)

Rhaegel whirled around, startled by a voice. Had someone just called out for him? Or was it his imagination again? 

“Uncle, here!” 

Ah, he could see now. It was just little Daeron, hidden behind the chair.

“What are you doing here?” Rhaegel smiled at his nephew, feeling a little foolish. “You know, you shouldn’t enter someone else’s rooms without permission?”

“Help me hide!” Daeron pleaded in a whiny childish voice. “Please, uncle! It’s Aerion. He is searching for me!”

A game of hide-and-go-seek? Rhaegel remembered how he and his brothers used to play it at Dragonstone. It was scary at times, but incredibly exciting.

“You want to hide here?” he asked in an indulgent tone. “I think your current hiding place is already good. But maybe behind my desk? There is enough space between it and the wall, although it doesn’t look like it.”

Daeron eagerly heed his advice. “Please, don’t tell him!” he begged, as if his life depended on it, before hiding. That was a little odd.

Not a moment later another boy appeared at the door, not even bothering to knock. 

“Have you seen my brother?” Aerion demanded. He was younger than Daeron but taller and much more self-assured.

Rhaegel thought his tone was rude - the boy didn’t even address him as “uncle”. _The child is just eager to continue his playtime,_ he had to remind himself.

“No, I haven’t seen him.” And Daeron asked for his help first, anyway.

“Hmm, thank you,” Aerion walked away with a huff.

Daeron waited for some time before finally emerging from his hiding spot. “Thank you, uncle!” he run to Rhaegel and hugged him. That was very sweet, but strange too. The boy looked too relieved for a simple game of hide-and-go-seek.

“You’re welcome, but why are you hiding from your brother?” 

Daeron’s face fell, and he stepped back with a startle. “It’s nothing, we’re just playing...”

“Are you sure?”Rhaegel tried to sound strict...er than usual. No, he couldn’t be stern with his own nephew. “You look terribly upset...”

“Please, please, don’t tell mother and father! Not father!” Daeron pleaded. “Please, promise!”

“I promise.” _Unless it is something truly alarming._ “You can tell me.”

“I broke his toy horse. It was his favourite, he even named it! He is going to kill me! I know! That’s why he wanted to play with me today!”

“He doesn’t want to kill you,” Rhaegel assured him. “He is probably just upset. And you should apologize. We can go now.”

“No! I did! I did apologize yesterday! I offered him my toys! He said he will get his revenge when I don’t expect it! I slept in mother’s rooms last night, but he was waiting for me in the morning! He wants us to be alone! I know he will do it today if he finds me!”

Rhaegel frowned, not sure what to make of it. He and his brothers had their share of fights and spats, all four of them prone to dramatics, but the real fear in Daeron’s voice was alarming.

“You need to tell your parents then. They will find a way to resolve this.”

“No! Father will be so angry!”

“Then tell your mother.”

Daeron lowered his head. “She already worries too much because of my dreams, I don’t want to upset her again,” he mumbled. 

Oh, how well Rhaegel understood how his nephew felt, still... “She will worry even more if you and your brother fight and end up hurting each other. Please, Daeron, I think it will be best if you tell her.”

Daeron sighed, “Perhaps I should tell her. Can you take me to her, uncle?”

“Of course.”

_I pray it’s just a childish fight_ , Rhaegel thought to himself. _When Alys and I have children, would it be even more difficult?_ he wondered. He always wanted to have children, but at the same time the prospect terrified him. Even his brothers struggled sometimes and made parenting seem like an ordeal, but he didn’t want to give up. He smiled encouragingly at little Daeron, hoping they all will be well and safe. 


	92. “Sometimes I really don’t like you.” (Dunk and Egg, drama over Duncan’s marriage)

“Sometimes I really don’t like you,” Dunk tells him through gritted teeth, and Aegon diverts his attention from the papers, confused and already hurt. 

“What brought this up?” _And why now?_ He is so tired... 

And Dunk have been so supportive, so understanding when Duncan astounded them with the marriage farce! This angry sneer on his face is surprising. 

“Nothing, Your Grace.” There is a mocking note in his voice that Aegon doesn’t like. “Just wanted to give a hint that I won’t do what you asked.” 

And how insolent he is now!

“What do you mean? What did I ask?”

“And I don’t appreciate,” Dunk continues, “being asked through Ser Raymun either.”

Aegon feels a pang of anger. He is now the king, not the hedge knight’s plucky squire. He taps his fingers on the table, trying to calm himself down. Recently he has to calm himself down very often.

“You don’t want to talk to Duncan? No need to be so dramatic about it. You could have just explained it to me,” he forces a smile. Dunk doesn’t return it. “I thought you would have a chance to talk sense into the boy. He loves you as if you were his uncle. But I was terribly busy, so I asked Raymun to tell you.”

Dunk looks even angrier now, “Because it is not that important? What shall I tell the prince, _Your Grace_? That promises made to some peasant wench mean nothing? No need to treat the girl as a proper, real wife, despite the marriage vows? And you don’t think that I, a nobody from Flea Bottom, would have any objections to that?” Dunk shakes his head. “No, I won’t do it.”

They stare at each other across the table. Aegon suddenly feels ashamed, but why? What he does is for the good of the people, for all the smallfolk he swore to protect. “Kill the boy,” Aemon has told him. Dunk’s vision is just too narrow.

“Perhaps there is another solution,” Dunk says in a calmer tone. “Something other than the annulment. Give the Baratheons seats on the small council, promise Jaehaerys to Lady Olessa.”

“And what about the Tullys? It’s not that easy, and you know it! We need to think of the bigger picture!”

“Would you destroy the girl's life for it?”

“Go! I’ll talk to Duncan myself.”

Dunk shakes his head again and leaves. Aegon returns to his papers.


	93. “You’re crazy! You’re out of your mind!” (Egg, character study)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alcohol cw

"You’re crazy! You’re out of your mind!” he shouts at his own reflection in the mirror and then starts to laugh. It’s his late father’s nameday, and he’s drunk, as drunk as his brother Daeron used to be drunk, and strangely, feverishly elated.

Is this nervous exaltation just a part of being so drunk? Or is it the result of the struggle between his aspirations and the more cautious parts of his mind? Aegon makes a face at the reflection, then throws himself down on the bed and buries his face in the pillow. Oh, he knows that the idea of wakening the dragons is dangerous, yet it won’t leave him. Seven hells, he thinks he has just told it all to Lady Beesbury at the feast! Or was it Lady Rowan? No, Betha would not have let him, she would have stopped him... She’s a great woman, his queen. But he has been thinking about the dragons the whole evening, while he joked with the guests... while they judged him, ready to destroy his life’s work... If only he had something for leverage... He can’t imagine what Betha and Dunk would think of his plan. No, not a plan, just an idea! Perhaps he shouldn’t even mention it... yet.

The world around him sways, as if he’s on the ship in the middle of the sea... How would it feel to be on the dragon’s back? Aerion died, drunk, hoping to turn into a dragon... he burned... he shrieked... First, he should research the rituals more, write to Aemon... but won’t it be worth the risk? How splendid it would be, to have a dragon! A dragon to protect his people. A dragon to take him away from all the worries and fears.


	94. “Ow! Ow! Stop hitting me!” (Lady Hardyng-Beesbury, post THK)

A toy sword in hand, two-year-old Martin advanced on her. His steps were clumsy, but the expression on his pudgy face was fierce.

“Ow! Ow! Stop hitting me!” Honey cried out as he made swings at her legs. “This is not chivalrous at all! Ow! This actually hurts!”

“He doesn’t understand what he’s doing, mother,” Harry informed her very helpfully. He was making an incredibly serious face, trying to act mature. It might have been convincing, but Honey knew he still played with his toys.

“Please, since I don’t know anything about children, take your cousin and entertain him. Clearly, I am not a match for this brave knight.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but took Martin by the hand and led him away to play under the elm tree. Martin complied without protest - he adored Harry. 

Honey sighed, fighting the urge to rub her ankle. She and cousin Junie never saw eye to eye when they were younger, yet now they became friends, and their children played together. Harry loved his little cousin, and Martin looked up to him as if he were a hero. Honey just wished sometimes for her brother’s child running and laughing beside them. But Humfrey died unmarried and childless. Honey blinked, feeling like crying again. Her heart ached for her brother even more than for her husband, with whom they spent only few years together, with whom she had only one child... Yet she realized now that the deep, world-shattering sense of despair was gone. She wiped away her tears and looked around the yard. Her people, her son, her family... Her cousin was waving at her.

“I will be well one day,” Honey thought to herself with both relief and sadness. But the summer evening was too good to miss it feeling sorry for herself, and she had things to do.


	95. “I don’t know how you convinced me to do this.” (Baelor and Rhaegel, crack with character moments)

The morning was pleasantly warm and sunny, the forest smelled of blooming flowers, and Baelor would have been enjoying the road and the chance to clear his head, if not for his brother’s, frankly ridiculous, request.

“I don’t know how you convinced me to do this,” he complained.

Rhaegel gave him a very wicked smile, “You’ve been overworking yourself again. You only leave the Red Keep for meetings and other important events. This trip will be good for you. And for me. Maester Lauge tells me I need exercise, it’s good for my head. Is it true, maester?” He turned to the maester who was following them on his donkey. Rewan Uller and Ser Edmund Ferren with his squire Roy had overtaken them and were far ahead. The maester waved and nodded. “You see?”

“Exercise is good, but why those ruins? They might be dangerous.”

“We won’t enter, just peek inside and see whether the legend about the Great Shield is true or not.”

Baelor sighed, “Even if it was once true, it would’ve been stolen ages ago.”

“Unless it’s charmed!” Rhaegel laughed. “You’re very grumpy today,” he mused. “Actually, you’ve been uncharacteristically moody lately. Careful, or Maekar will think you're stealing from him and get jealous!”

_As if Maekar won’t be jealous regardless,_ Baelor thought darkly. He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He didn’t want to burden Rhaegel with his bitterness at Maekar or his recent worries, but, in truth, being the Hand of the King, even though he had been preparing for the position for a long time, turned out to be more tedious and frustrating than he ever imagined, especially when he discovered that he and his father sometimes disagreed vehemently over major issues. This wasn’t something he was ready to share, but he couldn’t just lie to his brother or brush him off. Rhaegel was very sensitive about being treated seriously. 

“It’s... it’s because of the court matters,” he admitted at last. 

“Yes?” Rhaegel raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it, but...”

“I see it!” Ser Edmund cried out.

They rushed ahead, the unpleasant talk forgotten for the time being. _Until the return trip,_ Baelor noted to himself, but, at the moment, looking at the ruins that loomed in the distance, he felt intrigued.

“They surely are... forlorn,” Rhaegel muttered. 

The ruins looked imposing, the remnants of a huge ancient tower, but the morning was too pleasant and sunny to feel truly intimidated. Soon their party dismounted and, leaving the horses with Ser Edmund’s squire, climbed a small hill to approach what was once the main entrance.

“Do you see anything?” Rhaegel asked from behind his shoulder as Baelor tried to peek inside.

“No magic shields, I’m afraid.” Baelor wasn’t too eager to enter the dilapidated tower, despite his brother’s urgings. Their companions didn’t seem to be interested in exploring the inside of the ruins either - Rewan and Ser Edmund were discussing ancient architecture nearby, and the maester was pocking at some old stones a little farther away. Baelor stood at the entrance, trying to see anything of interest. The narrow hall on the first floor of the tower was dark and looked burnt from inside. Baelor could almost sense an unpleasant smell of something burning. He remembered another legend - an eternal fire burning under the ruins. No, that was silly. _Perhaps squatters live here. They would need fire for warmth and cooking. We better not disturb them,_ he decided. Or maybe take another look?

But before he could take a step into the tower, an ungodly, awful shriek pierced the air. It sounded like a woman in pain, being tortured to death. Rhaegel cried out and covered his ears with his hands. Baelor rushed to him. _Ghosts,_ flashed through his mind. _No, someone’s in trouble._ The shriek was so sudden and awful he couldn’t tell where it came from.

“Don’t worry,” he told his brother, who looked shaken. “I'm sure we’re not in danger.” Oh, Baelor knew this trip was a terrible idea, especially for Rhaegel! “Stay near me. Maester, you too. Rewan? Ser Edmund? Let’s return to the horses.”

“What, in seven hells, could that be?” Rewan asked. He and Ser Edmund had drawn their weapons.

“Spirits of the dead that inhabit the ruins,” proclaimed maester Lauge in a rather excited voice. “Sheathe your swords, good Sers, for they won’t harm the dead!”

“Better not yet,” remarked Rewan, eyeing the maester darkly.

“The sound didn’t come from the ruins,” Rhaegel said, “but from somewhere in the forest. I couldn’t tell the direction.”

Just then another shriek cut through the air, making them all shudder.

“I just want it to stop!” Rhaegel moaned as they carefully retreated down the hill. “I’m sorry I brought you here!”

“Not your fault. And if someone’s in trouble, we may be able to help,” Baelor assured him.

Ser Edmund’s squire, a quiet, stolid lad from the Westerlands, gave the approaching group a curious look. He and the horses seemed undisturbed.

“Why are you so calm, boy?” Ser Edmund frowned at the lad. “Have you not heard those bloody shrieks?”

“Shrieks, Ser?” the boy’s face became eager. “Are there ghosts?”

“Ghosts? No, not there.”

“Yes,” the maester interrupted. “Underneath the tower, in flames they shriek and laugh, and moan, and dance, just as the stories say.”

“Stop scaring the child,” Rhaegel reprimanded him.

At the same moment another shriek, this time closer to them, startled them again. All of them, except for the boy.

“Well, have you not heard it?” Ser Edmund demanded. “Are you charmed by the ghosts or in league with some brigands?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Baelor cut him off. “But someone over there might be in pain. We have to save them. Maester, Rhaegel, you stay here with...”

The squire was staring at him. Under that stare they all quieted down.

“I apologize, Your Grace, but do you mean the cry we just heard? Moments ago?” the boy asked.

“Yes,that awful, ugly screech!” Rhaegel nodded.

The boy made an odd face. _He’s trying to stifle his laughter_ , Baelor realized.

“Follow me, but very quietly,” the lad said, beckoning them to follow him into the trees.

“Let's do it,” Baelor decided, perplexed but curious. 

They heard the shriek one more time before they reached a small gorge, and looking down at the clearing below...

“Are those foxes?” Rhaegel asked.

“Quite, or they’ll hear you and run away, Your Grace,” the squire whispered. “It’s a lucky thing the wind is from the north.”

“And why are we looking at these foxes?” Rewan wanted to know.

“These are strange foxes,” Rhaegel crooned. “Look how big their ears are! The foxes in the pictures look different.”

Suddenly one of the foxes threw its head back and produced that unholy screech. They stared at it in silence.

“The marsh foxes, Your Grace, this is their mating call,” the squire explained at last. “Although they usually appear at dusk. We’re lucky to observe them. In the western marshes they’re much more cautious.”

Finally Ser Edmund cursed, scaring the foxes away. Rewan stared pointedly at the nearest tree. Looking at them, Baelor couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, you were right, brother! We do need to leave the Red Keep more. Spooked by the foxes! This is the most ridiculous story to tell!”

Maester Lauge was the one truly displeased, for Rewan and Ser Edmund teased him about the ghosts mercilessly on the way back, until Rhaegel ordered them to stop. 

“How do you feel after the scare?” Baelor asked his brother.

“Not that bad. The foxes were cute. Better than ghosts, I think,” Rhaegel replied. “And are you feeling better now? Less grumpy?”

“I suppose. Can’t wait to tell father about this ‘adventure’. He will love it!”


	96. “Is that… is that my bra?” (Alys and Daenora, modern au, angsty family drama)

Alys was surprised to find Daenora standing silently at the door, an angry scowl on her face.

“What?” Alys asked, slightly unnerved.

“Is that… is that my bra?” Daenora pointed at the heap of clothes Alys had prepared for mending.

“Yes, the strap is almost torn off, I’ll try to sew it on…”

“And who has allowed you?! How dare you sneak into my room and rummage through my things?!”

“I…” Alys was taken aback by her daughter’s reaction. Daenora had never cared before, and Alys was the one doing the laundry and the cleaning anyway. _Does she have something to hide? No, it’s just her rebellious phase._ _It has to be._ Alys tried to compose herself. Tried to remind herself of what she had read on the parenting forums. _Be gentle and explain your positon._ “I didn’t think you would mind. I noticed it needs mending when I was doing the laundry. So, no, I didn’t look through your drawers.”

“Yeah, sure,” Daenora marched to the heap. “Always spying on me,” she muttered while picking out her underwear. “Looking for any opportunity to go through my stuff! Badmouthing me behind my back!”

“That’s not true!” Alys exclaimed, appalled at the accusations. And why was she feeling guilty, as if she, and not Daenora, were a child in need of scolding?! By the Seven, Daenora was a difficult one! 

_Aelora has never been like this!_

Either she said it aloud, or Daenora guessed her thoughts. The girl turned back to Alys, furious. “Oh, yes, Aelora. Always a good daughter, not like _the Bitch_. And where did it get her? Ha!”

Alys didn’t strike her. But, gods help her, she was close to it. She didn’t even shout. _No._ She worked hard on becoming a good parent. For Rhaegel’s sake. 

“Stop it. No one is going to touch your clothes from now on,” she managed through gritted teeth, “but it means you’ll be doing your own laundry. Now go.”

Daenora clearly wanted to continue the fight but, failing to ignite a shouting match, retreated to her room, waving her bras like victory spoils.

Alys angrily kicked a pair of slippers out of the way, and began to sort through her own underwear, silently fuming. She refused to cry. But, oh, how she wished Dyanna were alive! Dyanna would have understood. Maybe together they would have found out what to do. 

Alys wished Rhaegel and Aelor were alive, and Aelora was still living with them at home, then they would have all talked this mess through, and someone would have taken her side, and someone would have placated Daenora. But wishing and dreaming never got her far, and Daenora surely wouldn’t be the one to prepare the dinner.


	97. “Really? Right now?” (Tanselle in Braavos p2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continues from chapter 61. This was meant to be a part of a bigger, now abandoned AU, so it doesn't really makes much sense on its own.

Tanselle prepared herself for a quite but productive evening. She had been working on a new bunch of four-winged statuettes that proved to be popular with sailors at the docks and locals alike. With her uncle’s help Tanselle sculptured them from clay in Jonquil’s resemblance, backed them in a stove in master Ervano’s house and painted them black and silver with special Tyroshi paint. The figurines brought in additional money in between the performances, and some customers even called them ‘charms’. Jonquil herself was scurrying around at Tanselle’s feet, playing with aunt Tessa’s slipper she had stolen away earlier that day.

Tanselle was still painting, absorbed in thoughts about a new play, when Jonquil abandoned her toy, climbed up on to the bed and screeched out her greeting call.

“Thoma!” Tanselle turned to see the bravo’s grinning face at her window. He was standing on the roof of their outhouse, no doubt.

“What are you doing here?!”

“I thought I'd surprise you and see whether the beast would notice me this time!”

“She always notices you!” Jonquil chirped in agreement and tried to peck at Thoma through the window. “Did you come just to see us?” Tanselle asked with a flirtatious smile that usually made him puff his chest and compliment her.

“No! Let’s go to the Patternmaker’s Maze! Please!”

“Really? Right now?” The day was already cold and windy even for Braavos.

“Yes! Today is a special day - they call it the 'Day of the Truth', and anyone can go into the maze, no need to be enlightened! If we are chosen, we can see the future!”

Tanselle furrowed her brow. “I'm not sure I want to see the future. In the stories it always leads to bad things.”

“Not for the maze worshippers! And they claim it doesn’t have to come true, you can change it! And you might see the past and the present too! You can see your friends in Dorne! The maze can show all kinds of things - it knows what you truly desire to know.”

“My aunt will be worried.”

“Look! I dressed as a boring citizen, so no one will give us trouble, and I’ll return you safely before sunset!” He was indeed dressed in ordinary clothes instead of his usual garish garb.

“ _If_ my aunt and uncle allow it, then we can have a quick look,” Tanselle agreed, and Thoma made a victorious cry.

Much to Tanselle’s surprise, her uncle and aunt agreed to let her go out almost immediately. _They probably need to spend some time alone with each other_ , she realized, embarrassed. Ever since they moved into this new tiny house, they had little privacy with paper-thin inner walls that separated the two bedrooms.

And so Tanselle put on her second best shawl, put a harness on Jonquil, and they went out to the Maze. On the way Thoma entertained them with tales of his fellow bravo and city gossip. Tanselle laughed with him, but she wished he would leave the bravo nonsense behind and chose a real trade or even join her family’s troupe. She thought he would make a fine performer. She didn’t tell him her thoughts, though. She didn’t want to hurt his pride. _It is his path, as dangerous as it is,_ she reminded herself. He just seemed so soft, so naive... he should be a terrible bravo! She couldn’t imagine him fighting or killing people. He couldn’t even kill Jonquil — Tanselle made a protective sign over her four-winged raven — and he didn’t even know it was Jonquil back then! _Could I kill a person?_ she wondered, as they crossed yet another bridge. She imagined stabbing the Bright Prince... No, she decided she couldn’t... not to the death at least. But she still liked to imagine him looking scared and helpless. 

Jonquil made an excited cry when they finally reached the Maze. Some of the people in the small crowd that gathered around the steps noticed the four-winged raven and stared at them.

“Ha! Jonquil likes it here,” Thoma noted. “Perhaps she’s from... wherever the maze people came from?”

“Perhaps. Or she smells the grilled meat from those stands,” Tanselle pointed at the vendors who were selling food at a respectful distance from the Maze walls.

“Today is your chance!” a small pale woman in strange-looking robes announced from the top of the steps. “Today the Pattern leads you to the visions. The Past or The Present or The Future!”

_Can it show me Ser Duncan and whether he is well?_ Tanselle thought to herself and gently stroked Jonquil’s head to soothe herself. She listened while the woman preached about the Pattern and the Maze — there was power in her voice, even if her words were not different from Thoma’s. The crowd seemed to like her. 

“Who will enter the Maze?” the woman called out to the crowd. 

“Perhaps I will,” Thoma whispered. “I want to be chosen.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Tanselle whispered back.

“Norgo from the docks walked it this morning, and my cousin Carlla did it last year. Norgo said it was amusing. Carlla told me the Maze showed her some scary things, but she is afraid of everything.”

“Does it involve drinking anything strange?” Tanselle asked. Too loudly - the Maze woman had heard her.

“No, child,” the woman glided down the steps, and the crowd parted in front of her. “You may even take your friend-creature with you. It might help you inside.”

Tanselle, who was wondering about it out of mere curiosity, suddenly found herself being led up the steps and towards the entrance by the very serious woman and laughing Thoma. 

“Please, don’t worry, if you don’t reappear on the other end in half an hour, I’ll go in and find you.” Thoma assured her.

“Can’t we just go together?” Tanselle asked.

“Only one person can enter, otherwise you won’t be able to receive visions and may get lost,” the woman said. She barely reached Tanselle’s shoulder, yet it was clear that she was one of the ‘important’ people. “Now, listen, child, you’ll see visions - some claim they can also hear and even smell things - and some of those things may scare you, but they can’t harm you unless you allow them. If you feel confused or lost, rely on your little pet to tell what is the truth. Follow the red rope and don’t wander off.”

And with that Tanselle with Jonquil on her shoulder was ushered into the Maze before she could even ask what ‘can’t harm unless you allow it' meant. She turned around, but the woman had draped the entrance with a heavy cloth.

“It is not dangerous,” Tanselle whispered to Jonquil. “It may even be interesting...” 

At first the Maze was not that different from the hedge mazes of the Reach, only the walls were very high and made of stone, and there was a red rope stretched along the wall to help navigate the way. The path turned several times but didn’t branch, and Tanselle could hear the street noises and smell the fried fish from the stands outside. But after a third or fourth turn silence had settled around her, and a strange light fog had engulfed the maze.

Jonquil made curious chirping sounds but after a few moments relaxed and settled back on Tanselle’s shoulder. Just to be on the safe side, Tanselle made sure to hold on to the red rope as she walked forward. Leaves crunched under her feet, and she could have sworn that just a turn before the ground was bare stone! The fog grew thicker and thicker, and she started to cough because it irritated her throat, and then she realized that she was breathing ash and smoke, not fog. She gave Jonquil a fearful look, frightened that the maze was on fire, but the four-winged raven was preening, unalarmed.

_Is it just an illusion? Can this maze make me feel as if I’m breathing in the smoke?_ she wondered, and suddenly she could breathe easily again. She felt both fear and pride. _Thoma would want me to memorize every detail, he loves listening to the stories almost as much as he loves telling them!_ She gripped the rope tighter and continued on her way forward.

The Maze felt sinister now, dreadful and oppressive, and she considered turning back when suddenly she heard a terrifying shriek, and a nightmarish apparition leaped out from a hidden side passage in front of her. 

A man, his head in a crown of green fire, his face melting off, flames engulfing him, turning him into a monster! His lower jaw fell to the ground, and Tanselle shrieked louder than the man. He lunged at her blindly - to hurt her or to beg her for help - but she dodged him, escaping his nails or claws, and ran forward, panicked, leaving the burning man far behind, still screaming… 

She ran and ran, until she tripped and nearly fell. She caught herself, and Jonquil squeaked angrily at her. Tanselle gulped the air. Her hands grabbed the red rope again. _A vision. Just a vision. It can’t harm me unless I allow it!_ She leaned against the maze wall and breathed in and out slowly, calming herself down, like her aunt did before important performances.

Theair was still sooty, and, as she kept moving forward, praying for the maze to end soon, she could feel the ungodly heat, worse than Hellholt at noon, and see green shimmers on the stone walls. She knew that the horrible heat should have hurt her, but somehow it didn’t. Yet she had trouble breathing again, and her eyes stung. She heard creaking above her, as if a ceiling was on fire, even though she knew that above the dark smoke there was only the grey Braavosi sky. She heard other sounds too - people, burning, walls crumbling - but she couldn’t turn back, not when the monster was behind her. 

When the shrieks of pain and the imaginary heat became unbearable, she ran again, hoping to escape the horror. The smoke became so thick she couldn’t even see the maze walls, only the barely distinguishable red of the guide rope on the side and a faint yellow light far ahead of her. Yellow, not that terrible green. _Sun…_

She started to discern things in the smoke that surrounded her, though she knew it wasn’t possible. She saw shadowy swirls, and in her mind they formed into visions of countless people, peasants and townsfolk, dancing in the streets and fields, rejoiced, celebrating, only to be swept away by the green flames… Then suddenly she could see again, and a wall was right in front of her, and she made a sharp turn, following the rope into a side passage, barely avoiding colliding with the wall, and ran out of the smoke.

Tanselle inhaled sharply. She could feel the cold air on her face. Frost now covered the walls and the ground under her feet. Jonquil chirped at her, displeased by the running, but she didn’t puff herself up like she usually did on cold mornings and evenings. _Just another illusion._ _It can’t hurt me. It can’t!_

And so Tanselle walked forward. Soon she felt colder than she has ever been in her entire life. She was horribly tired and started to feel sluggish. Frosty fog surrounded her, hiding the road ahead. She guessed it meant more visions and more frights, but trudged on, still following the rope and the dim yellow light she saw ahead. _Only I turned when I ran out of the smoke, so it can’t be the same light. But why does it feel like it is?_

She walked on and on. The fog twisted around her, changing the Maze itself.

_Step. Step. Step._ The sound of footsteps. Hundreds, no, thousands of people walking. Thousands of dead men and women with dead eyes. An endless stream. Children. Giants with their heads lost in the milky mist that hid the sky. Creatures with eight legs, spider-like. And among the endless crowd were _They_ , beautiful and terrible, ice sculptures from nightmares.

Tanselle made herself move forward. _It won’t hurt me. Won’t. Won’t._ The river of the dead from left to right. She would have to cross it. 

She slipped between the dead, avoiding touching them, and walked forward. _Only forward._ Oneof the dead children turned its head to stare at her with its glazy blue eyes, and she managed to stifle a scream only by biting on her own hand. 

She pressed towards that dim yellow light until she passed through the stream of the dead and was again alone with Jonquil in the cold narrow passage of the maze. She looked back, but behind her was only the milky white mist.

Tanselle collapsed by the wall, whimpering. Tears were freezing on her cheeks. She was so terribly cold, and then she was warm. _They_ surrounded her, laughing at her in cold metallic voices. They were judging her. 

_They can’t hurt me! No, please, oh…_ It couldn’t be real! She should just wait there, until Thoma would find her… _They_ were just an illusion, and she was safe…

Hot blinding pain. 

She cried out. Blood rushed down her cheek. With a piercing screech Jonquil bit her again, and Tanselle jumped to her feet, blindly trying to escape the pain, her heart racing again, and found herself facing _Them_. They were still laughing at her, mocking her pain, and she feared them again. _Run! Escape!_ she pleaded with herself. Jonquil screamed into her ear. She dashed forward, then dodged to the right and slipped in between the two of the creatures before they could grab her, and then she was free of the cold. 

She ran and ran, for ages or for hours, until she reached another crossroads.

She slowed down and tried to steady her breath. Her cheek was still bleeding.

“Th… thank you,” she whispered to Jonquil, and stroked the raven’s neck. “It really hurts, though.” Jonquil cooed in response.

Slowly Tanselle gathered her composure. She didn’t dare to look back, but she couldn’t feel the presence of the ice creatures anymore. Instead a feeling of deep sorrow settled in her soul. For some time she slowly walked forward, following the guide rope. Around her snow - huge, sad snowflakes - fell in silence. The Maze had changed again, and she was moving through vast snowy fields. Countless bodies were sprawled, half-buried, around them. Children and old women. Livestock among the humans. Fields of the dead, men frozen or starved. Dying trees and dead, silent villages. Stone slabs of many colours protruded from the snow as it began to thaw, and on those slabs she saw murals of the places she knew… no, those were not slabs, but the walls of the Maze.

The light ahead was brighter now, and the snow had thawed. Tanselle could breathe freely again, although the sadness was still in the air. She heard the wailing of grieving women and prayers of septons and foreign priests. Then she heard children laughing and playing, and smelt summer flowers again. She saw other things now too, all around her like shadows in quick succession - Casterly Rock burning as angry people stormed it, a strange foreign play performed in front of the Baelor’s Sept that looked changed and very old, and then… they reached the light, and the sadness was gone, and Tanselle gasped in awe when she finally saw the vision that she was meant to see…

****

Tanselle stumbled out of the Maze in a daze, her bitten cheek bleeding, Jonquil chattering angrily at the curious crowd. Thoma rushed up to help her, and she finally let go of the red rope. Thoma assailed her with questions, and the Lady of the Maze smiled at her knowingly. Tanselle barely restrained herself from cussing at the woman for not warning her about the horrors of the Maze or the very real danger. _If not for Jonquil…_ She was too tired, though, and grateful for that final, true vision. 

“Remember what you saw today,” the woman whispered. Or did Tanselle just imagine it? “You decide what it means to you, and what to do with the knowledge of what you saw.”

“Let’s sit down somewhere, my legs ache,” Tanselle asked Thoma, and he led her down the stairs and to the canal. She set down on the small steps that lead to the water and rested, and thought about what had happened to her in the Maze. Thoma brought cold cloth for her injured cheek and chicken meat for Jonquil. They sat in silence for some time, and the visions of the great fire and the terrible winter seemed more and more unreal, dreamlike. Only the final vision - _her_ vision - stayed, vivid and beautiful. She laughed to herself silently.

“What?” Thoma asked, concerned, yet curious. “What happened there?”

“I saw… visions… Can’t really understand them, but the last one…” She sighed and stroked Jonquil’s neck. “She saved me there. Even though it was _very_ painful. Still hurts.” 

“Is that why your face is like that?” Thoma’s eyes were wide. “I’ve never heard anything about the Maze being truly dangerous! I wouldn’t have invited you, if I knew, I swear!”

“I know, Thoma.” He was so silly sometimes, but she knew he meant well. And he looked truly remorseful, so she told him about the fires and the ice creatures, and he cursed and laughed with her. 

“You’re braver than any bravo, my lady,” he told her, eyes round with awe. “I wish I were chosen too…”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky next time?”

“Perhaps… I’m a bravo but I never even had any adventures… yet.”

_Adventures… why mine have to be so scary?_ she wondered.

“Just stay with me for now,” she said aloud. “Don’t wander off to seek your adventures yet.” She took his hand in hers.

Thoma stared at the water, mulling over something. 

“Do you think,” he started suddenly, “that it was something special about _you_ that made it, the Maze, chose you and send _you_ those particular visions?” he asked.

“Me?” she blinked at him. 

“Well, they should have some reason for picking whom to let in, those mystic Maze worshippers, yes? There should’ve been something special about you that caught that Lady’s eye!”

“Perhaps, but we can’t be sure. You’re just guessing,” she shrugged. What could be so special about her? But still… “Did your cousin ever discover why she was chosen?”

“She didn’t tell me, but she didn’t mention anything as vivid as your adventure! And that last vision, you’ve said it was something special,” he reminded her, “Something only for your eyes.”

“Yes. It was wonderful!”

“But you didn’t tell me what it was,” he pretended to pout.

“Because it was something just for my eyes!” 

“Yes! Do you think you are the one who will do that wonderful thing, whatever it is?”

She wanted to laugh it off. She should have been modest. “ _Know your place”,_ the Bright Prince would have said. _But Ser Duncan, he saved me from that monster._

“I… I think that vision was meant to show me the far future. I don’t think I’ll live to see it,” she said. A hopeful and free future, where there will be no princes. “But perhaps I can contribute something to bring it closer.”


	98. “Where are your pants?” (Dreamseer the Dragon p3, feat. Kiera, Daeron and a surprise character)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues from drabbles 5 and 8
> 
> contains an anachronistic usage of the word ‘pants’, but i didn't want to make it a modern au, so the in-universe reason is that it is a word from the trade talk of the Free Cities that only Kiera uses.

“Hurry up! Aemon just told me...” Kiera froze, shocked by her husband’s state. “Why are you undressed?!”

Daeron opened one eye, then another. “Wh... What? Ah, yes, I just wanted a quick nap. I got undressed because I didn’t want to crumple my clothes,” he explained. 

“Queen Aelora is about to arrive! Aemon saw the royal party crossing the Little Brook from the battlements! Hurry up! Where is Dale? Dale, come and help him dress! Where are your pants?”

“They were here... somewhere?” Daeron muttered. Kiera and Dale looked around, searching.

“Never mind,” Kiera decided. “You’ll wear another pa...”

“No!” with a cry Daeron rolled from the bed and rushed past Kiera and his servant. “Dreamseer!”

The dragon stood at the doorstep of Daeron’s study, and two legs of Daeron’s best pants were sticking out of her mouth.

“No, please! She can choke on them!” Daeron cried out, and Kiera and Dale rushed over to help. Kiera remembered that dragons were supposed to eat only charred meat, but Dreamseer was always an odd one. 

“Dreamseer, please, you’ll choke!” Daeron grabbed the ends of the pants and tried to pull. Kiera fell on top of the dragon, elbowed aside by the servant who rushed to aid her husband. They tried to pry open Dreamseer’s mouth, but all the efforts were in vain. Dreamseer just huffed air that was hot enough to burn their hands.

“Tickle her belly, just as she likes it!” Daeron ordered.

“Dale, callmaester Aemon!” Kiera barked through gritted teeth, while tickling the damned dragon. Dreamseer oinked from pleasure and attention but kept her mouth closed.

“No, call Aerion! She’ll see him and try to attack, and she’ll have to open her mouth for that!”

“What if she inhales them?”

Daeron and Kiera stared at each other in mutual horror.

“Seer!” called a high pitched voice from the doorway. “Seer, come, play with me!”

Upon noticing Vaella Dreamseer gracefully rose from the floor and half-opened her mouth in greeting. Quick as lightning, Daeron pulled his pants out. They were smelly and slimy, and slightly charred, but otherwise intact. That meant she didn’t swallow or inhale pieces of them. _Good._

Giggling Vaella climbed on Dreamseer’s back, and the dragon padded out of the study.

“Funny how she never burns Vaella, not even by accident,” Daeron mused with pride.

Kiera stared at her own slightly burnt hands. _I came to Westeros for this,_ she thought. _To tickle dragon’s belly. I am so very sorry, Your Grace, we couldn’t meet you at the gates for I was terribly busy tickling the dragon’s belly..._

But, looking at Vaella and Dreamseer playing together, she realized she didn’t mind it that much.


	99. “I can’t believe you’re carrying my child.” (Aelinor Penrose, character drama)

The man in her dreams looks a lot like her husband, but his back is straighter, his shoulders wider. He kisses her and puts his calloused hands on her belly. “I can’t believe you’re carrying my child,” he says and kisses her again on the lips. “My love,” he whispers in her ear.

Aelinor awakens in her bed, alone, and sighs. What a foolish, yet persistent dream! At times a very wicked part of her considers finding a lover. The fear of Bloodraven always stops her. Besides, no one ever shows interest in her. Not in _that_ way. She knows she is good-looking and well educated, and pious... perhaps the Seven are saving her from temptation.

She goes through her morning routine, thanks her maids. Her ladies-in-waiting are chatting happily about poetry and the latest hunt, and the court news, but when she tries to join in, they grow serious, stiff. They look almost intimidated. Were they like that with Queen Mariah? With the Dondarrion woman? _My husband is indifferent, my ladies in waiting are intimidated by me,_ she thinks bitterly. She smiles at them and resolves to listen from a distance. She longs for her mother, who was always her one true friend. Perhaps she should join the “witch’s court” of Seastar. Aelinor is as intelligent and educated as any of them — the bastards and merchant’s daughters, the woods witches. _Septa Marla would have a fit._ But then the Tyroshi girl would be there with her accusing eyes and sharp remarks. At least Aelinor’s ladies-in-waiting won’t hurt her. She thinks they even like her. Just won’t include her into their idle chats and jokes. 

And so she leaves for the Sept and prays, and speaks to the High Septon about charity, and then goes to the library. Her husband is there, talking to the new maester-archivist.

“Aelinor,” Aerys gestures for her to come closer. “Look at our new purchase. Septon Pehr’s last work. What do you think? We think it is authentic.”

She smiles her pleasant smile and discusses the book, and feels so utterly alone.


	100. "You’re my soulmate?!" (Wet Wat Barleycorn/OC, soapy)

Other men may mock Paula for her big ears and her freckles, but for Wat she is the most beautiful girl in the world.

“I think Barleycorn is a good name,” she says, and he beams with joy, relieved. 

He knows the townsfolk laugh at his "lord’s name", even though he is very proud of it. Ser Duncan’s squire gave it to him and his brother, and Ser Duncan stood up for them and the others, so they weren’t killed by the Red Widow’s sorcery.

Ever since Wat didn’t want to just stay in the village and work in the fields, he wanted to see the world and train to become a proper warrior, not a fodder to be slaughtered. When his ma died he took to the road. And, true, he knows now that he won’t become a knight, but he is still proud of his achievements - first a guard for a travelling merchant, and now a helping hand, almost an apprentice, at master Oswin’s shop. And before he never even hoped to see a big town! He met Paula here too. She doesn’t laugh at him.

“Glad you like it. But won’t you mind being called Barleycorn yourself?” he asks, just to be sure.

“Of course not, silly! I know you worry, and I know da will say ‘no’ at first and try to scare you, but that’s how it went with my sisters and their suitors too! You must be firm, and he’ll come around! He has a very soft heart. And his own father started from the scraps in the slums."

Paula’s father, master Bernar, mortifies Wat, but he will be brave - for her.

“I’ll go and ask him tonight,” he decides.

“Besides, Barleycorn is no worse than Codd or Redwyne!” Paula giggles. “And you know what?” she adds.

“What?”

“When I was born, the wise woman who delivered me, she put seven ears of barleycorn into my cradle!”

_This... does it mean..._

“You’re my soulmate?!” he gasps in astonishment.

Paula looks confused. “What’s a soulmate?” she asks, smiling.

“My ma told me stories when I was little, but I never thought they can be true!” 

He tells Paula his ma’s stories, as they sit together on the Greentree Hill, and look down at the town below, laughing and dreaming of their future, under the blue summer sky.


End file.
